


"Medium Security" IV

by Gaedhal



Series: "Medium Security" IV [1]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2019-10-13 02:22:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 35
Words: 45,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17479409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gaedhal/pseuds/Gaedhal
Summary: Life on the Stanton Quad continues for Brian and Justin.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Justin is happy.

Chapter 1

 

September 1978

 

Justin opened his eyes slowly.

It was only beginning to get light out. Soon the C.O.’s would make their way down the tiers, racking the doors and calling for the men to wake up and prepare for morning headcount. 

It was already uncomfortably warm in the small cell, one of those early September mornings that was as humid as July. But Justin wasn’t about to move yet, not matter how warm he was. No, he wasn’t going to move until he had to.

Justin was in his usual place, wedged between the brick wall of the cell and the hot, sweaty body of his cellmate. His jocker. His daddy. His lover. His everything.

Brian.

Justin sighed and held tightly to the man. If anyone had told him a year and a half ago that he would be in a medium security state prison in bed with a convicted murderer Justin would have assumed that person was crazy.

And if that same person had told Justin that he would be happier than he had ever been in his life, he would have known that person was definitely crazy.

But it was true. Against all odds and all expectations, Justin Taylor was happy.

Justin let his hand play softly up and down Brian’s chest as it rose and fell in a deep sleep. The hair between his nipples was light brown and silky. Justin pulled gently at a strand, feeling the soft dampness of it. 

There wasn’t an inch on that long body that Justin didn’t know intimately. Know and love intensely. Every hair. Every mole. Every scar. Brian’s tattoo. The slight nick in the ridge around the head of his beautiful cock. Justin often touched that nick with his tongue while he was sucking Brian. It was a tiny imperfection that, along with all the other slight imperfections, made Brian even more perfect in Justin’s eyes.

Even Brian’s knife scar, an angry, jagged trail that was still red and raised along Brian’s left side, was more a badge of honor than a defect. Because Justin knew how Brian had gotten it. He’d been stabbed defending his punk. His cellmate. His lover. Justin. And to Justin it was a beautiful thing. The mark of a warrior. Of a man.

Brian sighed in his sleep and turned, reaching automatically for Justin.

Justin didn’t need to ask Brian if he loved him. Justin understood how difficult it was for Brian to put his feelings into language. Understood how much words had cost Brian in the past. Those very words – I love you – had cost Brian his freedom. And almost cost him his life and his soul.

But Justin never doubted what Brian felt about him. Never for a single moment. It was in everything he said and everything he did, every single day in the Quad. It was in that scar and the wound that had almost taken Brian’s life. It was in the way Brian touched him. The way Brian watched over him and kept him safe.

And the way that Brian had been given back to Justin. That was the most amazing thing of all. That was a gift. And Justin vowed that he would never waste that precious gift.

Justin put his hand under the worn sheet and held Brian’s morning hard-on. It was firm and long and pulsed in Justin’s hot hand like a heartbeat. Both men were already drenched in sweat. It would be another sweltering, airless day in the Stanton Quad.

“That feels great,” Brian mumbled, just rousing out of his sound sleep. There was nothing like waking up to a loving hand on your dick.

Justin grinned. “I can’t keep away from it. It’s like my hand has a life of its own and it wants to stroke you and squeeze you more than it wants to do anything else!”

“Your hand is very smart,” said Brian, sleepily. “And talented, too!”

“If you think my hand is talented, wait until you feel my mouth,” Justin whispered. 

Justin lowered his voice because he heard one of the C.O.’s walking back up the tier close to their cell. Most of the guards ignored sex between prisoners unless it was too loud or too blatant. Otherwise the Administration seemed to feel that it kept tensions down among the inmates. Better to have the inmates paired up and furtively screwing than to have them angry, horny, and fighting with each other. Only a few of the more rigid C.O.’s routinely wrote up hooked-up couples for fucking quietly in their own cells – and those guards tended not to last very long up on the tiers.

Brian closed his eyes and let the sweet sensation wash over him as Justin sucked him deeply and expertly. He came as quickly and as noiselessly as he could and then pulled Justin up against him to kiss his plush pink lips. There would only be a few more minutes of peace before the two would have to get up and dress for morning headcount. Then there was breakfast and the work of the day – Brian to the Law Library and Justin to his classes over in the Administration Building. Then afternoon headcount at 4:00, dinner, TV and recreation in the evening, evening headcount at 10:00, and lights out at 11:30. Brian and Justin would have a good, long fuck in the dark after the lights were dimmed, and then they’d fall into an exhausted sleep. And the whole routine would begin again the next morning. That was the rhythm of Stanton Quad. The rhythm of their lives.

And they were content with it. More than content. Novelty brought disruption. And disruption brought trouble. And danger.

Both Brian and Justin had had enough disruption and danger in the past few months to last them a lifetime. Now all they wanted was a little peace and quiet. To be left alone. To have their cell and their work and their food. To have time to be together. And to forget that anyone else existed.

“Get a move on!” yelled the C.O., rapping his baton against the door of cell E-320. “Headcount in five minutes!”

But other people did exist, both in the Quad and in the world. And that’s where the trouble always came from. From somewhere else.

From forces that were always intruding on Brian and Justin’s little circle of two.

But in the meanwhile, there was one more minute when they could hold each other.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin wants a tattoo.

Chapter 2

 

“Babydoll,” said Emmy, taking Justin by the arm. “Don’t you think that you better stop and consider before you do this? Because I don’t think your man is going to like it one little bit!”

“I have been thinking about it, Em,” Justin countered. “In fact, I’ve been thinking about it all summer. And I want to do it! I’m sure!”

“A punk doesn’t do things without his daddy’s permission, honey,” Em warned. “It’s not right.”

Justin smiled slyly. “What’s Brian going to do to me, Em? Kick my ass?”

But Emmy didn’t smile back. “He could. Brian won’t, of course, because he could never lay a hand on you in anger. But he might lose face with the other jocks if you do something that they know Brian doesn’t like. They might see it as not keeping a firm hand on you. It’s never a good idea to make waves, Justin. I would think that you, of all people, would know that.”

“Our relationship isn’t like that, Em, and you know it!” Justin huffed. “Brian doesn’t order me around. We’re equals!”

But Emmy shook her head sadly. “You can say that all you want, princess, but there’s no such thing as equals between a punk and a jock in the Quad. It upsets the natural order of things. Next thing you know queens will be thinking that they’re men and punks will be wanting to fuck their daddies! All hell would break loose in Stanton and then where would we all be?”

Justin bit his tongue when Em mentioned punks wanting to fuck their daddies. It was one of Brian and Justin’s most closely kept secrets that Brian let his punk top him on special occasions. And if that were to be known by the other jockers, Brian might well lose his status as a man in the Quad. No matter how well-liked Brian was by the other jocks, a man couldn’t play the woman’s part and still be a man. So Justin stayed quiet about that and told no one. But then Brian and Justin had many secrets that they didn’t share with anyone else in Stanton Correctional Facility for Men.

“Do you have the fee with you, honey?” asked Emmy as they climbed the down to the first tier.

“Yup,” said Justin. “Twenty cigarettes, ten Hershey bars, and five packs of gum. Do you think that’s a fair price? It seems like a lot of swag.”

“Not really,” said Em. “Stevie the Greek is the best in the Quad and you get what you pay for, babydoll.”

“I guess. Is it going to hurt?” Justin asked suddenly.

“Probably,” said Emmy. “What doesn’t hurt in this hellhole?”

The pair approached the gate into the South Wing. Justin shuddered as he walked through it. The South Wing wasn’t as frightening since the demise of the low-riders, but it was still alien territory and that always held the possibility of danger. Justin was glad that Em was with him. He never would have had the nerve to go there if Em hadn’t come along to watch his back. That’s what a real pal was for.

“Stevie is at the end of the first tier,” said Em. “You leave the C.O. to me, honey.”

Emmy took Justin by the arm and sashayed by the C.O.’s desk. “Morning, Officer Rocky!” Emmy said to the guard. “Babydoll and I are going visiting. Is that a-okay with you, Rocky sweetie?”

The C.O. shrugged. Emmy was a harmless queen. And she had a mouth on her like a fucking vacuum cleaner! Rocky’s dick twitched slightly thinking about it.

“As long as you don’t get in Loretta’s face while you’re over here,” said Officer Rocky, reminding Em of the black queen who was the leader of the South Wing ladies. “Because Loretta doesn’t like East Wing queens on her turf.”

“I wouldn’t dream of ruffling Miz Loretta’s feathers, handsome,” said Em, batting her eyes at the C.O. “We’ll be quiet as little old mice.”

“You better be – or else!” said Officer Rocky, trying to sound threatening. But Emmy knew that Rocky wouldn’t do anything. He had bigger things to worry about in the South Wing than a queen and a punk. 

Em and Justin passed down the bottom tier to the cell of Stevie the Greek.

“Whatcha got?” asked Stevie, a grizzled safecracker in his 60’s.

“Is this enough?” Justin handed him the cigarettes, candy, and gum.

“Is all right,” the older inmate growled. “Take off your shirt and let’s see what we got to work with.”

Justin took off his blue chambray workshirt and his white tee shirt. His pale skin looked translucent even in the dim light of the cell. 

It was so pure and untouched that Emmy almost gasped. “Are you really sure about this, Sunshine?”

Justin nodded. “I want it, Em.” He turned to Stevie. “Right here.” He touched a spot high on his right shoulder.

Stevie the Greek stroked the smooth skin of the boy’s upper arm. “Nice,” he said. This was a pretty, pretty boy. It had been a long time since he’d fucked a beautiful blond boy. And this one would fuel the old man’s jerk-off sessions for weeks to come. “So nice. You got what you want?”

“Here.” Justin handed him the drawing he’d done, in scale. “I made certain it’s the right size.”

Stevie the Greek studied the drawing. A simple red heart, outlined in black, with a name inside. The name of the boy’s jock. Brian.

“You sure you want a name there, kid?” the old inmate asked. “Could give trouble when you get out. A boy with a man’s name on his arm is not so good. Most guys want ‘Mother’ or the name of a girlfriend.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend!” Justin bristled. “And I don’t want my damned mother’s name on my arm! I want the name of my lover. And I want it on there forever. So are you going to do it?”

Stevie shrugged. “I do it if that’s what you want.” He took a bottle of alcohol and some pieces of cotton from a cardboard box. Then he took out his make-shift tattoo machine and his needles and inks.

Justin winced when he saw the needles and glanced apprehensively at Emmy.

But the queen didn’t say a word. She’d warned Justin about this. She only hoped that the boy didn’t faint.

The old inmate transferred Justin’s drawing to his right shoulder. He worked carefully. Stevie was the best tattoo artist in the Quad and he didn’t want to mar such pretty white skin. “That looks good,” he said, and Emmy nodded.

Stevie swabbed Justin’s arm with alcohol and then fired up his machine. “You hold on to your friend,” he suggested to Justin.

“Is it going to hurt very much?” asked Justin, taking a deep breath and squeezing Em’s hand tightly

The old inmate grinned. He was missing most of his front teeth.

“Of course it will hurt! What you think, little boy?” he said. And then he laughed as he touched Justin’s shoulder with his machine.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Father Bob wants to talk to Brian.

Chapter 3

 

Brian was filling out some forms for a new inmate when there was a soft rapping on the door frame of the Law Library.

Father Bob looked into the room. “I wonder if I might speak with you, Brian?” 

“Sure,” said Brian, setting the forms aside. “Come on in, Father.”

Brian had very little to do with Father Bob or any of the other chaplains who had been stationed in the Stanton Quad over the years. An earlier priest had tried to gather Brian into his prison flock, but Ron scared the man away whenever he ventured onto the tier and Father Bob had never bothered to follow his predecessor’s lead.

Brian knew that his file had his religion listed as Catholic, but Brian hadn’t practiced that faith since he was a teenager, even though his mother had always been almost rabid about her own attendance at Mass. Brian’s father, Jack, on the other hand, never went to church. “Joanie prays enough for the whole family,” Jack claimed and Brian agreed with his old man – one of the few things they ever agreed on.

Emmy and Michelle and many of Brian’s friends were regulars at Mass, but they could never tempt Brian to join them. Brian had decided long ago that prayers were useless. They hadn’t saved him from being convicted and they hadn’t saved him from the low-riders. And they hadn’t saved him from his father’s years of abuse or his mother’s neglect. No, prayers were bullshit. If the queens found some comfort in talking their problems over with Father Bob, or if he could write a character reference for one of Brian’s law clients, that was all well and good, as long as the priest left Brian alone.

Father Bob sat down in the creaky wooden chair. He thought that Brian looked very good for a man who had almost died five months before. He was still a little thin and there were shadows around his dark green eyes, but he seemed healthy and in good spirits. 

The priest often saw Brian and his cellmate, Justin, on the Quad on a sunny afternoon, or at Movie Night on Fridays. They were always holding hands or had their arms around each other. Most inmates were not so bold about their relationships, but Brian and Justin’s hook-up was so well-known that they didn’t seem to care. And no one bothered them. Brian’s legal work was too important to too many men in the Quad, and both men also had a lot of powerful friends, including Ben “Juice” Bruckner, who was the acknowledged “Big Man” in the East Wing – and possibly in the entire prison.

“Brian, I’m not exactly certain how to talk about this matter with you,” Father Bob began.

“Hold it,” said Brian, putting up his hand to stop the priest. “This sounds like something I don’t want to know about. If you can’t figure out a way to talk to me about it, then I don’t want to hear about it – whatever it is!”

“But Brian, this is very important,” Father Bob continued.

“If this is about me and Justin, then you can walk right back to the chapel and I’ll forget that you ever came in here, Father,” said Brian, angrily. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m a faggot and Justin is a faggot and no amount of praying by you or my mother or Justin’s mother or the fucking Pope is going to change that or stop us from being hooked up! So if Mrs. Taylor sent you here to ream me out, you can tell her that her son handles that job without any difficulty.”

“This has nothing to do with Justin’s mother, Brian,” said Father Bob. “Or with your relationship.”

“Oh,” said Brian. 

Now he was puzzled. Why else would Father Bob come to him except on a soul-saving mission? “I guess I assumed that Justin’s mom was behind this little visit. So, is this about Emmett’s appeal? Or Michael? Or one of the other men you counsel?”

“No, Brian. Justin’s mother isn’t behind my visit,” said the priest. “But yours is.”

“My mother?” said Brian in astonishment.

“Yes. Your mother,” Father Bob leaned forward. “When was the last time you contacted her, Brian?”

“Me? Contact HER?” Brian breathed. “Pardon my French, Father, but what the hell for? I’ve been in prison for nine years and in all that time the only thing my dear, sainted mother has done for me is to ignore me! And you know what? That’s just fine with me! My parents are a couple of lousy drunks who never wanted me in the first place. I’m their ‘cross’ to bear. With me in Stanton Correctional my mother can be a martyr to all of her pals at church and my old man can feel satisfied that he was right all along in hating me because I turned out to be a criminal AND a faggot. I have no clue why my mother would want to contact me now, Father Bob, but I don’t want my mother or you to send me any prayers or holy cards or rosary beads or official Vatican-approved relics to help put me on the right path. So you can save your breath and your time and go back to the chapel.”

Brian stood up and went to the file cabinet, turning his back on Father Bob. His hands were trembling, but he didn’t want the priest to see how shaken he was.

“Brian, I understand that you’re bitter about your relationship with your parents,” said Father Bob, gently. “But I don’t think that you should turn your back on their attempt to reach out to you. At least hear what I have to say. Please?”

“All right.” Brian took a deep breath and turned around. “What? What do they want?”

Father Bob smiled. “I’ve already submitted the paperwork to Warden Horvath and he’s approved it. So, if you are willing, Brian, your parents have contacted me about arranging a 48 hour Family Visit for you and your mother and father for next week.” 

Brian stared at the priest. This was the last thing in the world he had expected. 

“Oh, shit,” was all Brian said.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buyer's remorse.

Chapter 4

 

“I don’t feel so well, Em,” said Justin, feebly.

The boy was sitting on a folding chair in the breakroom in the Hospital Wing while Emmy gently rubbed lotion on his new tattoo.

“Just relax, sweetie,” said Em. “It’ll be fine.”

“You think?” Justin closed his eyes, thinking about how he had almost passed out while Stevie the Greek was making his tattoo. Even sitting in the chair, he still felt dizzy and slightly sick to his stomach.

“Here’s a bottle of lotion,” Emmy instructed, wrapping the bottle in a piece of newspaper. “Don’t be tempted to use it for – um – any other purpose except rubbing it on your tattoo. I’m letting you have this whole bottle, but don’t tell Dr. Caputo I gave it to you. It’s supposed to be for patients only!”

“Thanks, Em,” Justin sighed.

“You have to keep that thing moist, so you’ll need it, babydoll.”

“It doesn’t look too good, does it, Em?” Justin asked. The tattoo had been oozing earlier and it still throbbed like crazy. Luckily, Emmy was an orderly in the Hospital and he brought Justin over to the West Wing and treated the tattoo.

“You have to let it heal, honey,” said Emmy. “It will probably scab over, but don’t pick at it or scratch it, for heaven’s sake, or it might get infected!”

“I’ll try not to,” Justin swallowed. 

Em smiled encouragingly. “In a week or so it will look absolutely beautiful! All the other punks will be so jealous!”

“Really?” Justin asked hopefully.

Justin’s shoulder ached and he was sweating. Emmy had given him an aspirin, but it didn’t seem to be helping the pain.

“Really.”

Poor Sunshine, thought Emmy. Brian is going to hit the roof when he sees that thing. But it’s too late now. Way too late.

“Emmett!”

They both started when they heard Dr. Caputo calling from the ward.

“I have to go, sweetie,” said Em. “You hustle your pretty butt out of here and go back up to your cell and lie down. And don’t forget your lotion!”

“I have it,” Justin said, clutching the little package. “I owe you one, Em.”

Emmy kissed the boy on the forehead. “You scoot now! I mean it!”

Justin trudged back up to his tier. He’d been so anxious to get the tattoo and now all he wanted to do was hide it.

“Hey, Justin!” called Wesley from his cell. He came out and grinned at his friend. “Where’ve you been?”

“Around,” Justin said shortly.

“What’s that?” Wesley pointed to Justin’s shoulder. His sleeve was rolled up to give the tattoo some air. “Did you get a tattoo? For real?”

“Don’t touch it!” Justin cried, wincing.

“Cool!” said Wesley. “Al has a bunch of tattoos. He has a mermaid on his arm and an eagle on his back from when he was in the Navy. I wish he’d let me get a tattoo! I didn’t know that Brian said you could, Justin.”

Justin sniffed as he opened the cell door. “He didn’t. I didn’t tell him I was getting it done.”

Wesley’s eyes widened. “Shit, Justin! What’s Brian going to say?”

“I don’t know,” Justin admitted. He sat on the bottom bunk and set the package of lotion on the floor next to the bunk.

“Maybe he’ll like it?” Wesley offered, sitting next to Justin.

But Justin shook his head. “I think this was a big mistake.”

“It’ll be okay, Justin,” said Wesley. “Brian never gets mad at you. Not like me. I’m always pissing Al off about something.”

Justin shuddered thinking about the times he had heard Al beating Wesley in the next cell. Or Junior beating Stormy in the cell across the way. It was considered a good thing for a jocker to show a punk who was the boss by smacking him around regularly. Otherwise the punk wouldn’t respect his man. Then the kid might disobey his daddy or do something really stupid behind his back.

Like getting a tattoo without permission.

“Don’t cry, Justin,” said Wesley. “Does it hurt that much?”

“I don’t know yet,” said Justin, wiping his eyes. “But I guess I’ll find out soon.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian faces a decision.

Chapter 5

 

“Shit,” thought Brian. “What am I going to do?”

A Family Visit. In all of the years he’d been in the Quad Brian had never had a Family Visit. Because he didn’t have a family. Oh, he had one, technically. But the Kinneys were no one’s idea of the All American Family.

Early in his sentence Joan Kinney had sent Brian some letters, mainly encouraging him to repent of his many sins and abominations. She seemed to feel that Brian’s homosexuality was even worse than his conviction as a murderer, arsonist, and anti-American radical.

Brian never responded to those letters from his mother. At first he read them and then threw them away. But after a while he didn’t even open them anymore. Still, Brian got upset every time one appeared in his mailbox. He went into a deep depression and refused to eat or go to recreation for days afterwards.

That’s when Ron began bribing the mail handlers to give him the letters before they were put into Brian’s box. Ron read the nasty things and then destroyed them. Fucking religion! Ron thought that Brian’s mother must be a major lunatic bitch to treat her only son like he was some kind of sinner, especially considering what he’d been through during his mockery of a trial and then in his first hellish months at Stanton Correctional.

Eventually, the letters stopped coming. The Kinneys seemed to have forgotten about their son or else given up on him as a lost cause. Much later Ron told Brian about his diversion of the letters, but by that time Baby didn’t seem to care. It no longer mattered. His life before he’d come to the Quad and all of the people he’d known on the outside were no longer relevant. Brian’s entire existence consisted of Ron and the East Wing and the Law Library. Anything beyond that was unimportant.

But now...

The Kinneys were back.

What could they want? And why now?

Brian shook his head anxiously as he opened the door to the cell.

It was very quiet. Too quiet.

“Justin?” Brian could see the boy lying in the top bunk. He seemed to be asleep. “What’s the matter? Are you sick?”

Justin sniffed and turned over under the thin sheet. He blinked his blue eyes. “I don’t know.”

“Let me feel your head,” said Brian, with concern. “Do you want me to call Emmy? Maybe you should go to the Hospital, Justin.”

“No,” Justin sighed as Brian touched his forehead very gently. “I... I only want to stay here. I don’t feel like going to dinner tonight.”

“You don’t feel feverish,” said Brian. “Why don’t you climb down into the bottom bunk?” That was where Justin usually slept, in the lower bunk next to Brian. Justin only rarely slept in the upper.

“I think I’ll stay here,” said Justin. “I want to sleep now.”

The C.O. walked along the tier, calling for 4:00 headcount.

“I’ll bring you back something from dinner, okay?” said Brian. 

“Thanks.” Justin’s voice was so low and he sounded far away.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Now Brian was getting worried. What if the boy was really ill? 

“I’ll be okay.” Justin huddled under the sheet miserably.

Brian sat on the bottom bunk and looked through his latest issue of ‘The New Yorker’ while he waited for the C.O.’s to rack the doors and let the men down to the Chow Hall. If Justin wasn’t better by morning Brian would make him go to see Dr. Caputo, even if he had to carry him!

Finally the doors unlocked and the men began to file down to the bottom tier.

“I’m going to dinner now, Justin,” Brian said. “I’ll bring you back an extra dessert, okay?”

But Justin only nodded silently.

Brian walked down to the Chow Hall alone, lost in thought. Al and Junior and a couple of the other third tier jockers were sitting at a table and they motioned Brian over.

“You seem real chipper, Bri Baby,” Al needled and the other jocks laughed. “Even though that little bastard of yours pulled a fast one on you, huh?”

Brian frowned as he set down his tray. Something was up. 

“Yeah, he did. So what?” said Brian, playing along. It was never a good idea to seem like you were ignorant of something. It was a sign of weakness.

“If Stormy did a fool thing like that, I’d bust the little punk!” said Junior. “I’ve messed him up for a lot less, lemme tell ya!”

“You bust up Stormy for sneezing in the wrong direction!” sniped Big John. 

“He’s a hard little shit,” Junior said proudly. “Stormy can take it.” Then he narrowed his eyes at Brian. “My Stormy ain’t a soft little faggot like Justin. My kid never makes a sound, even when I take my belt to him. If Brian did that to his kid, the bitch would break in two!”

Brian felt his face getting red. “I’ve got no reason to take my belt to Justin. And he’s a lot stronger than any of you know. He’s survived a shitload of grief since he’s been in the joint. He doesn’t need me to make things worse for him.”

“Yeah, that’s why your punk thinks he can get away with murder!” said Big John. “He thinks he’s better than the other punks just ’cause he’s some rich kid from the fucking suburbs. But a punk is a punk, Bri. And a punk needs discipline.” Big John glanced at the other men at the table. “Unless you’re pussy whipped, Bri Baby. Pussy whipped by a fucking little punk!”

The jocks seemed to think this was the funniest thing they’d heard in a long time. But Brian wasn’t laughing. He knew that he was being challenged. These men were his jocker buddies in the Quad, but the truth was that no man was really your friend in prison. It was dog eat dog and every day was a struggle for status among the inmates. The only person a man could truly trust was his punk. Unless his punk betrayed him. But that could never happen to Brian. Never.

“If I told Stormy to get himself branded, he’d do it! He’d get my name drilled onto his ass in a heartbeat!” proclaimed Junior. “But if he went out and did it himself, then I’d knock his fucking block off! I don’t want my goddamn name tattooed on some other guy’s body! That’s real faggot stuff!”

“Come on!” said Al. “Justin ain’t like Stormy. He’s a real little queen! You gotta expect him to do shit like that.” Al nudged Brian with his elbow. “Maybe Bri Baby likes to see his name inked onto the kid. Maybe it’ll scare away any other jocks who’d like a taste of pretty blond ass!”

“Yeah, I like it,” said Brian, coolly. But inside he was boiling. It sounded like Justin had gotten a tattoo. Brian couldn’t believe it, but it seemed to be true. “I like it fine.”

“Wesley says that Justin didn’t ask you first before he went to Stevie the Greek for the tat,” said Al. “Your kid doesn’t ask you much, does he, Bri?”

“Pussy whipped!” laughed Big John. “I told ya!”

Brian pushed his chair back. “I have to go. I’ve got work to do over in the Law Library.” Brian stared at Big John. “It seems that you have a hearing with the Parole Board coming up, John. You wouldn’t want me to fuck it up, would you?”

Big John swallowed his laughter. “No, I wouldn’t want it to get fucked up, Brian. I gotta get my Parole! I promised my old lady I was getting out before Christmas.”

“Then I better go and work on it,” said Brian. “Right?” He stood up and took his tray to the rack.

No wonder Justin didn’t want to come down to dinner. And no wonder he was hiding in the top bunk. He didn’t want Brian to know about the tattoo. The fucking little shit!

How could Justin have done it? How could he stain his beautiful skin that way? And with Brian’s own name! That was bad. Really bad. 

And what the hell would Justin’s mother say when she saw it? She already hated Brian. Now when she saw his name imprinted on her son’s otherwise perfect body she would detest Brian with all her heart.

“Hey, Brian! Wait up!”

Brian turned to see Ben Bruckner coming down the tier behind him.

“Hey, Ben.” Brian waited for the Juice Pig to catch up with him.

“Michelle told me about Justin and his new tattoo,” said Ben. “All of the queens are talking about it.”

It seemed that everyone in the Quad knew about Justin’s tattoo. Brian was apparently the last one to know about it. News traveled like wildfire in the stifling atmosphere of Stanton.

“Yeah, and all of the jocks, too,” said Brian. “Junior and Big John were giving me the third degree. They said that I was pussy whipped for letting Justin get away with doing whatever he wanted behind my back.”

Ben nodded. “I bet.” They walked a little way in silence. “So what are you going to do about it, Brian?”

“What the hell can I do?” Brian replied. “What’s done is done! I can’t erase the fucking thing!”

“I don’t mean about the tat,” said Ben. “But about Justin.”

Brian looked at Ben. He felt a chill go through him. “I won’t do it! I can’t!”

Ben stopped and put his hand on Brian’s arm. “Do you trust me, Bri? You know I wouldn’t steer you wrong.”

“I know, Juice,” said Brian.

“You want to be a jock, Brian?” said Ben, seriously. “Then BE a jock. You want to have a punk? Then you have to discipline your punk. If you don’t then you’re going to lose face in the Quad. You’re already walking a thin line. The men respect you because you’ve done murder and that’s a righteous crime. And also because you stood up to the low-riders and took a shank to defend your punk. But in the eyes of a lot of the jocks you’re still the Lawyer’s Punk, Brian. You’re still a prime piece of ass. And if you let it look like Justin is pushing you around....” Ben looked grim. “You know how bad that can be.”

“What can they do? Demote me?” Brian spat. “Fuck that!”

“Maybe not Big John or Junior or any of the guys in the East Wing,” said Ben. “But there are men in the South Wing who wouldn’t mind taking you down a peg. And a couple who wouldn’t mind getting a piece of you. And a piece of Justin, too.”

Brian was startled. “Like fuck they will! Over my dead body!”

“I’m only warning you, Brian,” said Ben. “I’m watching your back. And I’ll always watch it. We’re pals. I’m your dog and you’re mine. But I can’t be everywhere. You’ve been in this Quad longer than I have and you know the way things work here. And you know what you have to do.”

“Yeah,” said Brian, dismally. “I know what I have to do.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian confides in Ben.

Chapter 6

 

September 1978

 

“Let’s go up to the iron pile,” suggested Ben. “You might want to work off a little tension before you go back up to the tier.”

“Yeah,” Brian agreed. He didn’t want to see Justin right now. Brian didn’t want to see the kid until he’d cooled off and had a little time to think. “That’s a good idea, Ben.”

The two men went up to the gym. A couple of guys were lifting weights there, but they moved off the equipment when they saw the Juice Pig and his buddy come onto the floor. The Juice Pig was a guy who you didn’t want to cross.

It was still difficult for Brian to pull any significant weight, even after months of working on getting his strength back. Dr. Caputo had told him that it wasn’t unusual for it to take a year for a guy to get back to normal. But Brian hated the feeling of being powerless that his wound had left him with. His left side still hurt when he over-exerted himself or when he tried to run too far or too fast. And using the machines left him washy and fatigued after a short period of time.

Ben knew all this. That’s why they usually worked out together. Brian didn’t want the rest of the jockers to realize just how vulnerable he still was. And Ben, who had been the one to work with him when he was still in the Hospital Wing, was the only one who really knew the extent of Brian’s weakness. 

Ben knew and he didn’t care. Because Brian knew something about Ben that no one else did. Which was that the Juice Pig, the Big Man of the East Wing, had been just as big a cocksucker as any queen in the Quad when he’d been on the outside. But that was something that the other jocks, who only saw a tall, imposing, pumped up Ben, never could have guessed. So Brian and Ben had something in common – they were both gay men trying to retain their manhood in a place that didn’t allow that option. Ben was successfully playing his part, but Brian – dragging a history of being a punk behind him – was having a much harder time maintaining his status as a man in Stanton Correctional.

“Why did Justin do it?” Ben asked.

Brian shrugged. “He talked about it this summer. He saw tattoos on some of the men and he heard them bragging about having their wives’ or girlfriends’ names put on to show how devoted they were to them. And he knows that I have a tattoo, although he also knows how I got it.” 

Brian ran his left index finger along the middle finger of his right hand. “Resist.” It had been meant as a joke by the low-riders who gave it to him, but it meant more than that now. Because that’s what Brian had always been doing. Resisting. And what he’d be doing for the rest of his life.

“It’s a message to you, you know,” said Ben. “Justin is telling you how he feels. And telling everyone who sees it how he feels.”

“I know,” said Brian, softly. “But I don’t want him marked by something like that for his entire life! He’s going to get out of here one day. Soon, I hope. And I don’t want him to... to be ashamed when he gets out. I don’t want him to have to hide his body from people who’ll judge him. From people who don’t understand what he’s been through. Justin is only making it harder for himself when he should be trying to make his life easier. When he should be trying to live as normally as possible.”

Ben set down his hand weights. “It’s too late for that, Bri. The kid’s life will never be easy – or normal. He’s a fag and nothing is going to change that. He isn’t going to turn straight when he gets out and I don’t think he would want to. Would you want Justin to change? Really?”

“I only want him to be safe,” whispered Brian. “And happy. If that’s possible in this lousy, fucked up world!”

Brian was trying to work his arms, but a pain shot through him from the scar on his left side and he flinched and faltered.

“Take it easy, Bri,” said Ben, reaching out to steady his friend. Ben held Brian up until he caught his breath. But then Ben held him a little longer.

“Ben,” said Brian. “Let me go.”

“There’s no one around, Bri Baby,” Ben said in a low voice. He slipped his hands down and cupped Brian’s ass. “What’s the harm?” Ben pulled Brian close to him. Ben was hard and he could feel Brian’s long cock begin to stir inside his workpants.

“Don’t,” said Brian, shortly. 

A door slammed nearby. Ben let Brian go and moved away. “Like I said, Bri – what’s the harm?”

“It’s not right, Ben,” Brian replied. “And you know it. Besides, I’m hooked up. I take that seriously. Maybe that’s naive of me, but I do.”

“Justin would never know. And neither would Michelle,” Ben countered.

“But I would know. And so would you,” said Brian.

“Don’t tell me that you never screwed around on the lawyer? In eight years? Because I don’t believe it!” Ben scoffed.

“It was different with me and Ron,” Brian stated. “I was younger and I was more curious. If I wanted to fool around or fuck one of the queens occasionally, Ron didn’t mind. He allowed me to do it. He didn’t consider that cheating.” Brian took a deep breath. “And he had his wife and their regular Conjugal Visits. That didn’t count either. I guess.” Brian turned away from Ben. He didn’t want to talk about this shit!

Ben caught the look on Brian’s face and he laughed. “But you were jealous, Bri Baby! I can see it written all over you!” The Juice Pig wiped the sweat off his broad shoulders with a towel. “You were jealous of the lawyer’s fucking wife!”

“That was a long time ago,” said Brian. He sat down on the bench very slowly, gathering his strength. “And it has nothing to do with the present.”

“Sure it does, Bri,” said Ben. “The past and the present – it’s all the same. The beginning is the ending. And everything in between.”

Brian grimaced. “Stop giving me all that Tao crap, Charlie Chan. You sound like a fucking fortune cookie!”

Ben snorted. “At least I have some kind of philosophy. Something to believe in. What do you have, Bri? Not much. Except maybe your fears.”

“No, I don’t have much,” Brian admitted soberly. He pressed his hand to his left side. The wound was throbbing like an angry heartbeat. “Except Justin. That’s all I have. For as long as I have that. And when he’s gone... nothing. Nothing at all. And that will be the end of it.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback to Fall 1969.

Chapter 7

 

Flashback to Fall 1969

 

When Ron and Bri Baby finally hooked up for real Ron was astonished at how quickly every man in the East Wing – both inmates and C.O.’s – knew about it.

To Ron, nothing had changed outwardly. He and Brian still lived in the same cell together, worked in the Law Library together, ate all of their meals together. None of that had changed. And Ron didn’t think that he treated Brian any differently than he had before. They didn’t hold hands or make goo goo eyes at each other like a couple of faggots. And Brian hadn’t said anything to anyone, either. He wasn’t the kind of kid to exchange idle gossip with the queens on the tier or offer much of anything about his personal life. In fact, Bri Baby was pretty close-mouthed, even to Ron.

And yet... they all knew.

Maybe it was something in their body language. Or in the way Ron glared at other men who dared to look at Brian. Or the way that Brian gazed at his jock with infatuated eyes. Or even in the way they touched each other furtively during dinner or on Movie Night when they thought that no one else was looking. 

Or maybe it was simply the noise that came from their cell, E-320, at any hour of the day or night. “Honeymooning” the queens called it. And for a guy like Ron, who hadn’t had sex in the four years he’d been inside, there was a lot of catching up to do.

“Baby, if you got out tomorrow what would be the first thing you’d do?” asked Ron, lighting a cigarette.

“The very first thing?” Brian considered. “Eat a big Chinese meal!”

Ron grinned. “A Chinese meal? Are you kidding?”

“No!” said Brian, punching Ron’s arm. “I want egg rolls and wonton soup and lots of fried rice! And shrimp with lobster sauce! And subgum chow mein! I can almost taste it just thinking about it.”

Ron had to laugh. Brian wasn’t a huge eater. More often than not, he picked at his food listlessly and left most of the congealed stew or gray meatloaf or limp spaghetti on his plate.

“I’d love to see you eat big meal, Baby,” said Ron. “And I promise that I’ll treat you to the works – from egg roll to fortune cookie – the day you get out.”

“Okay!” Brian replied happily. Both of them put out of their minds just how many years it was likely to be before Brian could collect on Ron’s vow.

Ron knew that a lot of jockers only fucked their punks in the dark and in total silence. But that was bullshit. Once he’d gotten over the odd sensation of having a man in bed with him, Ron figured that he would enjoy it. And one of the things he enjoyed the most was lying in the bunk afterwards, reveling in the feeling of exhaustion and satisfaction that came after a good, hard fuck. And having a cigarette, too.

“And after I have that Chinese food,” Brian continued. “I want to drive a car. A big car, like a Ford or a Buick! I want to roll down the windows and drive out into the country. I want to feel the wind blowing on my face. And I want to turn on the radio full blast!” Brian smiled delightedly at his private little fantasy.

“Where would you drive your car?” asked Ron.

Brian leaned his head on Ron’s arm and took the cigarette out of his jock’s mouth, taking a puff. “We could drive to Florida. Or California. I want to see the ocean! I want to see if it’s really, really blue. And I want to take my shoes off and walk on the beach. Have you ever done that?”

“Sure I have,” said Ron. “I was born and raised in New York City. I’ve been to Coney Island. But I’m afraid that the ocean doesn’t look too blue around Manhattan, Baby.”

“That’s why I want to go to Florida where the water is clear,” said Brian. “I want to look down and see the bottom of the sea. I want to see fish swimming by my feet!”

Ron laughed again.

“Stop making fun of me!” Brian pouted. “You think I’m stupid!”

“No, Baby, not at all,” said Ron. “I think it’s wonderful to have dreams. But....”

“But what?” Brian frowned.

“I don’t know if I can drive to Florida with you, Baby,” said Ron. “What about my wife, Jane?”

“What about her?” Brian sniffed. Brian had never met Jane Rosenblum but he hated her anyway.

Ron shook his head. “I don’t think she’d like it if I went on vacation with you, Baby.”

Brian bristled. “I don’t give a shit whether she likes it or not! You’re with ME now – not HER!”

Ron was amused by Bri Baby’s passion. “But Baby, Jane is still my wife. And she’ll be my wife when I get out. You have to accept that fact.”

“She might divorce you,” Brian offered. “Lots of guys’ old ladies divorce them while they’re in the joint!”

Ron smiled at Baby’s persistence. It was so fucking cute that the kid was jealous of his wife. Almost as if they were really rivals. “Not Jane. Our families don’t believe in divorce.”

Brian reached for Ron’s dick, stroking it possessively. “I bet she doesn’t suck cock as well as I do!”

“Jane doesn’t suck cock at all,” Ron informed the boy. “She’d never think of doing such a foul thing.”

“Then what good is she if she doesn’t suck cock?” Brian questioned. “What does she do then? Just lie there?”

“What my wife and I do in bed isn’t any of your business, Baby,” Ron said sternly. “Our sex life has always been okay, but it’s certainly not the main focus of our marriage. There are other things that are more important than sex.”

“Name one!” Brian challenged.

“Women just aren’t as interested in sex as men are. It’s a fact of life. They don’t approach sex the same way men do, with that same energy and intensity. And not all men have the kind of intensity that you do, Baby!” said Ron, closing his eyes in contentment as Baby’s long fingers worked up and down his thick cock.

“Fuck me again! Please?” Baby demanded. “You’re nice and hard!”

“I’d like to get a little sleep tonight, you know,” Ron sighed. “I have a lot of work to do tomorrow in the Law Library.”

“You can sleep any time!” Bri Baby reasoned. “Who wants to sleep when you can fuck?”

“Who, indeed?” Ron agreed, rolling the kid over.

“They’re at it again,” said one of the men in the next cell.

“If you had that bitch in your bunk wouldn’t you be fucking it as often as you could?” said the guy’s cellie. “I listen to them go at it and jerk myself off all night long!”

“Yeah,” his pal whispered back. “It’s better than a porno movie – and a hell of a lot cheaper!”

The two guys laughed as they pressed their ears to the wall of their cell to hear better. And they weren’t disappointed. Not disappointed at all.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback to February 1970.

Chapter 8

 

Flashback to February 1970

 

“I’m going to have a Conjugal with my wife next week, Baby,” said Ron, placing an official-looking piece of paper in a manila folder. “I just got the word from the Warden.”

Brian was sitting at his table in the corner of the Law Library. As usual, he was filling out forms for inmates. Filing and filling out forms – that made up most of his work as Ron’s associate with the Prisoners’ Legal Defense.

“Yeah?” Brian sniffed. He didn’t look up, but kept his eyes riveted to the forms in front of him. “So what?”

“I’m only telling you now so that you don’t get pissy about it when it’s time for me to go over to the trailers,” said Ron. “I don’t want to see anything like that little tantrum you threw the last time I visited Jane.”

“I did NOT throw a tantrum!” Brian insisted. “I don’t throw tantrums! What do you think I am? A little drama queen?”

“Oh, not you, Baby!” Ron laughed. “Never a drama queen.”

“Fuck you,” Brian whispered. “Go and fuck your ugly old wife. See if I give a shit!”

“Jane is not ugly and she’s not old,” Ron corrected. “She’s quite attractive. So don’t begrudge me these visits, Brian. It’s a change to get out of the Quad for 48 hours and it keeps me from going crazy in this place.”

“Sure,” said Brian. “Like I get out of the Quad. Like I don’t go crazy in this fucking place.”

Ron stood up and walked over to the figure hunched over at the little table. “I’m sorry, Baby. Your family does you a disservice that I wish I could rectify. But there’s nothing anyone can do about that. It isn’t fair, but then life isn’t fair.” He began rubbing the back of Brian’s neck.

“Tell me something I don’t already know!” Brian pushed Ron’s hand away peevishly. “Enjoy your Conjugal. I hope your wife gives you crabs!”

Brian jumped up and ran out of the Law Library. He wanted to get as far away from his jock as possible. Ron made him nuts sometimes. So what if he had a wife? A lot of the men had wives. So what? He didn’t have to make a federal case out of having a crummy Conjugal Visit. Who wanted to fuck some female anyway?

It was snowing and Brian couldn’t run around the track so he walked a short way into the Yard and then turned back. It was too cold and he didn’t have a coat or boots or gloves to keep him warm.

Brian went back up to his cell on the third tier and climbed up into the top bunk.

It wasn’t fair! Nothing was fair!

Other inmates had families who cared and they had Family Visits with their parents or Conjugals with their wives. Even Ron. He was no different from anyone else. A Conjugal was a chance to get out of the Quad for two days and act like a normal person. It was something that every man in Stanton was entitled to.

Except Brian. Because his parents didn’t give a damn. The last thing they would want to do was to spend 48 hours locked in a room with the son they hated.

The first time Ron had asked for a Conjugal Visit with his wife, Brian hadn’t thought much about it. They hadn’t been hooked up then, but were only celling together. But when Brian saw Ron getting ready to go he started to feel strange about it. Jealous. But not of the visit. No, of the fact that Ron was going to be with his wife. That they were going to have sex.

Brian brooded the entire time Ron was gone and when he returned, looking smug and well-fed – the wives brought food and cooked for their husbands in the trailer – Brian was petulant and irritable. But Ron figured it was only the kid’s Irish nature. He was always moody and secretive. Ron tried to be extra nice to Brian and before long things were back to normal between them.

Then they hooked up and Brian had a shit fit over Ron’s next Conjugal Visit. But it didn’t do any good. Ron ignored his punk’s tantrums and went anyway. And now it was time for another one.

Brian turned over in his bunk and buried his face in the pillow. Ron was allowed to have it both ways. That wasn’t right! He could have Baby AND still visit with Jane, too. If only Ron’s wife knew the truth! Then she wouldn’t be so anxious to welcome a husband who clearly preferred fucking a boy. And not just any boy, either, but Baby – the most desirable punk in the Stanton Quad!

Yes, if she only knew that....

If only someone would tell her....

He climbed down from his bunk and went over to the cardboard box where Ron kept his letters and personal papers. Brian took a few sheets of writing paper and an envelope and carefully copied Ron’s home address from one of Jane’s letters onto it.

Brian knew exactly what to write. The truth. That was simple enough. Once the woman read the letter and knew what was really going on between Ron and his young cellmate, she’d divorce Ron so fast his head would spin!

He filled an entire sheet, sealed it in the envelope, and then carried it down to the mailroom.

But the next week came and Ron’s Conjugal Visit wasn’t canceled. Brian couldn’t figure it out. Surely Jane must have gotten the letter before it was time to come to Stanton. But Ron went off with a sly grin on his face and Brian sat alone in the cell, brooding.

After the 48 hours were over, Ron was back. But he wasn’t smiling the way he usually did after he returned from the trailer.

“Brian,” he said, his voice hard and cold. “Come down here.”

Suddenly, Brian was afraid. He’d never been afraid of Ron before. He’d never had a reason to be afraid of Ron before. He huddled under the blanket on the top bunk and hid his face.

“I said to come down here!” Ron wasn’t shouting, but his voice was sharp and angry. “Now!”

“No!” said Brian.

“Come down or I’ll drag you down!” Ron snapped.

“I don’t want to,” Brian whined.

“I bet you don’t,” said Ron. He took out a piece of paper. It was his letter. “Did you send this to Jane? Did you send a letter to my wife?”

“No!” Brian pleaded. But he knew it was useless to lie to Ron. “Don’t!”

“Funny how much it looks like your handwriting, you lying little bitch!” Ron cried. And he grabbed Brian’s arm and pulled him off the bunk and onto the floor of the cell.

Brian had been beaten much worse in his life. His father had given him worse when he was much younger and the low-riders had certainly hurt him more thoroughly when they’d had him in their tip. 

But this beating Brian felt right to the center of his being. Because he loved Ron with all his heart and soul. He did! And he knew that he deserved to be beaten for what he’d done. Baby was a punk and he’d stepped over the line. He had messed with his jock’s personal business. He’d written to Ron’s wife. He’d tried to break them up. That was a mistake that couldn’t be remedied with a mere apology. Or even by begging for forgiveness. 

That mistake could only be dealt with the way a jocker had to deal with a treacherous and disobedient punk. By teaching him a lesson that he would never forget. Ever.

And Brian never did forget it.

Ever.

He only wished now that he could.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian needs to do what he has to do.

Chapter 9

 

September 1978

 

Brian left the gym and went down to the Law Library, closing the door behind him.

How many hours had he sat in this room, first at the little table in the corner and then at Ron’s desk? It was a place of refuge from the realities of prison. A quiet spot filled with books and papers. And filled with the Law.

The Law was the thing that had convicted him. But the Law might also be the thing that would free Justin. Brian had worked for hours on his lover’s case, trying to find any precedent, any loophole, any rationale that might free the boy. But Brian was well aware that the Law alone hadn’t convicted Justin. He’d been condemned by a System that was often beyond the Law. And well beyond Brian’s control.

Ordinarily, Brian might have sat for a quiet hour and written in his manuscript. But the manuscript was gone. It was out in the world. In the hands of people he would probably never meet. Editors and literary agents. Proofreaders. Fact checkers. And soon – if what he had been told actually came to pass – everyone would read it. Or at least everyone who read ‘The New Yorker’ magazine.

Brian had read his first copy of that magazine in this very room. Ron had given it to him after Ron had finished with it. He always gave Brian the things he was finished with – clothes, books, magazines, jobs. What was that song Barbra Streisand sang? Emmett would know. Something about a woman who never had anything that was new, but only what was second-hand. That was Brian’s reality.

The only thing that Brian had that was his own was his life. What he had written about. His story. His trial. His imprisonment. That had been his and no one else’s. And now it would be available to anyone who might pick up a magazine. His life would once again belong to the public, just as it had during his hellish trial.

And Brian didn’t want to think about what would happen to his life in the Stanton Quad when the first installment of his manuscript was actually published. The names of all the men in prison had been changed, of course. Even the location of the prison was veiled and certain descriptions disguised. But Warden Horvath would know. And the Board of Prisons would know. And word would get around the Quad faster than a bird could fly over the place. And they would all be very, very angry.

Writing about your experiences in prison, especially the kinds of experiences that Brian had endured, was not exactly encouraged by the administration. No one wanted the abuses or the realities of prison life to be revealed to outsiders. Not even a decent man like Carl Horvath wanted the public to know that there were rapes in his prison. Or drugs. Or sex between the men. Prostitution. Drag queens. Gang wars. Racial incidents. Beatings. Even love affairs. Or that these things happened every day behind bars. That’s why Brian had carefully hidden his manuscript during the years he’d been writing it. He knew that if anyone discovered it that it would be destroyed immediately. And that Brian would suffer the consequences for having written it.

That was the thing that Brian feared the most.

When the excerpts began to appear in ‘The New Yorker’ – whenever that would be, maybe weeks, maybe months from now, but sooner than Brian might wish – Brian’s life would change, one way or another.

He hadn’t told Justin that it was inevitable. And he hadn’t told Amy Carver, who was the go-between in this whole process. Justin and Miss Carver and her friends at ‘The New Yorker’ were fixated on getting Brian’s story published, certain that when people read it their minds would be changed about Brian’s case. Certain that he would get a new trial. That he would be freed. But Brian had no illusions about that. No illusions at all.

Brian knew what was really likely to happen after his story was published. And Ron knew, too. Brian wouldn’t be punished – at least not outwardly. That would look bad for the prison authorities. But as a ‘well-known’ or ‘infamous’ inmate, Brian would certainly be transferred from Stanton. He might go to another medium security joint near Philly, but more probably they’d send him to the minimum security facility near Pittsburgh.

In fact, Ron was hoping for that outcome. Brian – Baby – would be closer to Ron that way. And Brian would serve much softer time because his treatment would be under scrutiny from the public and the press. Ron saw all of that as a plus, which was why he’d encouraged Brian to go along with the publishing scheme. That, and the money that Brian might get from the magazine and any possible book deal. Ron had generously offered to handle that aspect of the arrangement.

But Brian didn’t give a shit about softer time or minimum security joints or even about the money.

Brian only cared that he had to think of a way to get Justin out of Stanton before Brian himself was taken somewhere else. And there was no way – so far. No way in hell.

And now this new horror. Justin and his tattoo.

Brian sat with his head in his hands, waiting. Ticking off the minutes until he had to climb up to the third tier for 10:00 lockdown.

Finally, he stood up. He could hear Murray closing things up in the main Library.

“Goodnight, Bri!” called Murray. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” said Brian. “See you tomorrow.”

Brian walked back up to the tier.

Emmett was waiting for him at the top of the stairwell.

“Bri!” Em cried. “It’s my fault! I let Justin do it. I went with him over to the South Wing. I’m the one to blame!”

“No, Em,” said Brian, brushing the queen aside. He could see many of the men standing around the doors of their cells, waiting for Brian’s return. He saw Junior and Al and Big John smoking in front of the Rec Room. Waiting to see what was going to happen.

Waiting to see if Brian measured up as a real jock. Or waiting to see if he proved to be nothing more than a dickless punk.

Em grabbed Brian’s arm. “Take a shot at me, Bri! Please, honey! I don’t mind at all. A pretty man giving me a good punch in the face is almost like a kiss. How else do you know that a man really cares? Right, Baby? You know how that is!”

“Yes, I know how that is,” said Brian, grimly. But he shook off Emmett’s touch. “Forget it, Em. Justin knew what he was doing. And he knew how I felt about him getting a tattoo.” 

“Why don’t you both sleep on it?” suggested Em. “Tomorrow it’ll all seem a big blow up over nothing!”

Brian looked down the tier. The C.O’s were moving the men into their cells. 

“It’s too late, Em,” Brian said softly. “And now it’s time to face the music. For both of us.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian teaches Justin a lesson.

Chapter 10

September 1978

 

Brian entered the cell at the last possible minute before lockdown. Then he stood at the door, staring out at the tier while the C.O.’s walked up and down, checking off each cell.

Brian could hear Justin in the top bunk. Hear his ragged breathing. And Brian could smell Justin, too. Smell his fear. His anxiety.

The lights had been dimmed on the tier, but lights out still hadn’t been called. Brian sighed and went over to the toilet and pissed. Then he washed his hands and face. He looked at himself in the mirror over the sink.

When he’d entered the Quad he’d been a boy. Naive. Trusting. Idealistic. Full of dreams. Now he was a man and most of his dreams had been shattered long ago. He’d be in his forties when he got out. If he got out. If he lived long enough to get out.

Yes, he was a man, but his life still wasn’t his own. Might never be his own. He’d always be someone’s pawn. Someone’s bitch. Maybe that’s what he was born to be. For Brian there was no escape from the inevitable.

But Justin still had a chance. It wasn’t too late for his life and for his dreams, even after all he’d been through.

Brian filled a cup with water and took out one of the white pills Ben had given him. He swallowed it and washed it down with the tepid water.

Brian undressed. He unbuttoned his workshirt and folded it, placing it on the shelf next to Justin’s. Then he took off his shoes and socks. He pulled his belt from the loops of his workpants and set it on the sink.

The inmates weren’t allowed to have leather belts, but the web belts worked just as well. They were durable and they made just as lasting an impression on your ass as leather ones. Brian knew that from personal experience. It had been a long time, but he still hadn’t forgotten.

He took off his workpants and put them on the shelf. The lights were going off in the cells around them and across the way. Al and Wesley. Andy and Beemer. Junior and Stormy. Brian snapped off the light over the sink.

“Justin,” he called softly. “Come down here.”

He heard Justin take a deep, jagged breath. “Don’t make me. Please.”

“Come down,” he repeated. “You have to.”

Justin climbed down slowly. He was wearing a pair of baggy boxer shorts and one of Brian’s gray tee shirts. His eyes were red and so was the fresh tattoo on his right shoulder.

“You know you shouldn’t have done it,” said Brian. “Why would you want to scar yourself that way? Brand yourself for life?”

“It’s not a scar,” said Justin. “I wanted it. I still want it.” He gulped down a sob. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask you first. But I’m not sorry that I did it. And I’d do it again.”

“When you get out, you can see about getting it removed,” said Brian. “I read that they can do that if you have the money.”

“No,” Justin replied. “I don’t want it removed. It’s here as long as I’m here.” He touched his finger to the raw, red heart.

Brian was holding the web belt in his right hand. Justin stared at it like it was a snake.

“Do you see this?”

“Yes,” said Justin in a weak voice.

“Are you going to do exactly what I tell you to do?” Brian asked.

“Yes.” Justin trembled, but he stood firm. He’d heard the jockers talking outside the cell. Talking about what they expected Brian to do to him. The men had wanted Justin to hear them. Wanted him to know what was going to happen. Wanted Justin’s punishment to be a warning to their own punks.

“Hold out your hand,” said Brian, very softly.

Justin held out his right hand, trying to keep it from shaking.

Brian took Justin’s hand and held it for a moment, caressing his fingers. Then he laid the belt in it.

“I’m going to lie down on the floor. I want you to help me put this towel over my legs.” Brian pointed to the towel he used for the shower. Brian took a pillow off the bunk and got on the floor. He slipped the pillow under his stomach to protect his wound from the hard concrete. “Tuck the towel around my legs so you won’t leave a mark. The towel should stop it from cutting.”

“What are you doing?” asked Justin, mystified.

“Keep your voice down,” Brian urged. “Everyone on the tier is listening.”

“What do you want me to do?” said Justin, his eyes wide.

“Hit the back of my legs with the belt. You have to hit hard enough to make a noise. My ass would hurt less, but I’m afraid you’ll miss and hit me in the side, so it’s safer on the legs.”

“No!” Justin breathed. “No fucking way! I won’t!”

“Yes,” Brian said. “You will. As soon as the lights go out. Ten strokes should be enough. They won’t expect any more than that. And keep your voice down. I mean it, Justin.”

“But... but this is supposed to be my punishment,” Justin whispered.

“It is,” said Brian. “Believe me. I can’t hit you. So you’ll have to hit me. That’s your punishment.”

“I can’t!” Justin cried.

“Yes, you can,” Brian said matter of factly. “And you must. I can take it, Justin. I’m used to pain. You aren’t. Just don’t slip and hit me near my wound or I’ll end up in the Hospital Wing and it’ll all be for nothing, okay?”

“Can’t I just hit the floor?” said Justin. “Or the pillow?”

“No,” said Brian. “Because they’ll be listening to hear you cry out. And you can’t fake it, Justin. You can’t. They’ll know. But if you hit me....” Brian shrugged. “I think one of us will make a noise.”

Brian and Justin heard the C.O.’s calling for lights out and the tier went dark. It was so quiet it was as if the entire East Wing was holding its breath.

“Kneel down next to me and hit me straight across,” Brian whispered. “And make it loud. As loud as you can. Do it quickly and get it over with.” He put his head down on his folded arms and closed his eyes.

Justin stared at the belt in his hand. “I can’t do it.”

“Now, Justin,” Brian ordered.

Justin hit the back of his lover’s legs with the belt.

“Harder and louder,” said Brian.

Justin hit him harder. Even against the towel it made a nasty smack. Justin cried out when he heard that sound.

“Again,” said Brian. “Harder.”

Brian’s body felt numb. The painkiller Ben had slipped him in the gym was working like a charm. In the morning he’d be sore, but it wouldn’t be too bad. He’d take another in the morning and use the rest he had stashed in the pocket of his workpants as he needed them.

But every time Justin hit him, the boy cried out as if the pain was his own. As if he felt every stroke. But he was still untouched. That was the important thing. And Brian meant to make certain that Justin would never be touched.

Up and down the tier the men and the punks and the queens and even the C.O.’s on duty could hear Justin’s cries. And they knew that another punk was learning his lesson the hard way.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin cares for Brian.

Chapter 11

 

“One more,” whispered Brian, counting. “And that’s all.”

Justin hit his lover one more time and dropped the belt on the floor. Then Justin burst into uncontrollable sobs, stretching himself out next to Brian and putting his arms around him.

“It’s all right,” Brian whispered. “I don’t feel a thing. I swear.”

“Liar,” Justin breathed. “I didn’t want to do it! I didn’t!”

“I know you didn’t,” said Brian, holding him tightly. “But I can take it, Justin. It’s my job to take it. Because I’m your jock. Do you understand me?”

Justin sighed. “Yes. I understand.”

“Good,” said Brian. “Help me up.”

Justin helped Brian to his feet and onto the lower bunk. Brian’s legs ached and his side was throbbing, but Ben’s little white pill kept the pain blunted.

Justin reached under the bunk and took out a small plastic bottle. He poured some of the cool lotion into his hand and rubbed it gently on the backs of Brian’s legs.

Brian winced as Justin’s soft hands touched his stinging legs. “Where did you get that cream?” he asked as Justin smoothed the lotion up and down.

“Emmy gave it to me to keep my tattoo moist,” said Justin. “It’s from the Hospital.”

“Don’t waste that stuff on me, Justin. You’ll need it.”

“There’s plenty,” said Justin, closing up the bottle. “Don’t tell me it doesn’t hurt, Brian. Your legs feel hot.” Justin wanted to turn on the light to see for himself just what Brian’s legs looked like, but turning on a light after hours would get both of them written up by the C.O. on duty.

“It’ll fade by morning,” said Brian, dismissively. His head felt heavy and his heart was pounding. “Listen to me, Justin – are you listening?”

“Yes,” he whispered.

“I don’t want you to leave the cell for the next two days. You’re on sick call, okay? I’ll bring your food to you – just me and no one else. Got it?”

“Yeah,” Justin nodded. “I got it.”

“And no visitors,” Brian ordered. “Especially not Emmett or Wesley. I know they mean well and they’ll want to commiserate with you and all that shit, but keep them away. Emmett will be snooping around, wanting to see your bruises. And for godsake keep your shirt and your pants on all the time for at least the next week, even when you’re in the cell. You’ll have to stay out of the showers, too. They’ll all want to get a look at you. But you don’t want anyone to see you, right? You’re ashamed to let them see you. Remember that, Justin. It’s very, very important.”

“Right,” Justin sniffed. “I don’t want anyone to see the marks, especially Em.”

“You can wash up here in the cell. We both will,” Brian continued. “And we’ll both stay out of the Rec Room and off the Yard for the time being. We’re both going to be anti-social for a while. Is that okay with you?”

Justin agreed. “It’s more than okay.”

“Now, get some sleep,” said Brian. He pulled the thin blanket over himself. He flinched slightly when it touched the backs of his legs. He’d have to be careful for the next few days. He couldn’t let anyone see his legs. But he could tell the other jocks that he’d hurt his old wound when he was ‘dealing’ with his punk. That would explain any stiffness in his movements.

“Can I get in with you? Please?” Justin asked. “Don’t say no.”

“All right,” Brian said.

He moved over and let Justin in under the blanket. Brian put his arms around the boy and squeezed him. Maybe they wouldn’t get away with this, but if they did, then Justin would be safe. Safe as long as Brian was still in the Quad. As long as they were still together.

“It’s a beautiful tattoo,” Brian whispered. 

“I think it is,” said Justin, staring into the darkness. “I heard Big John say that it was faggy to get another guy’s name tattooed on yourself, but I don’t give a shit. So what if it’s faggy? I’m a fag. And I don’t care who knows it – inside the Quad or outside.”

“Don’t say that, Justin. You might care when you get out,” Brian pointed out. “What about when you go back to school? Or when you meet new people?”

“I won’t hide what I am, Brian. I can’t hide, not after all that’s happened,” Justin insisted. “If anyone asks me about my tattoo, I’ll tell them, ‘That’s the name of my lover. And if you don’t like it, you can go fuck yourself!’”

“You’re going to get yourself in so much trouble in your life, Justin,” Brian sighed. “You just don’t know how NOT to make everything into a personal crusade.”

“I know,” Justin whispered. “I can’t help it. Emmy says I’m a natural born drama queen. Except that I’m not a queen!”

“No,” Brian smiled. “You aren’t a queen, Justin. You’re a princess!”

“Shut up!” he replied. He started to punch Brian in the arm, but then he stopped. Hitting Brian. Hurting him. A wave of regret washed over him. Filled him up until he couldn’t hold it in anymore.

Justin pressed his face against Brian’s shoulder. Tried to bury himself in Brian’s smooth, hot flesh. And he cried himself to sleep in the dark in Brian’s arms.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath of the punishment.

Chapter 12

 

Brian was carrying a tray of food up to the tier for Justin when Emmy and Michelle began walking alongside of him.

“I’ll take that dinner up to Sunshine for you, Bri honey,” Em offered. “I was on my way upstairs anyway. Michelle and I are working on a fabulous new outfit for me for Movie Night. Wait until Loretta sees it! She’ll be pea green with envy!”

But Brian only frowned at the two queens and held tightly to the tray. “No thanks, Emmett. I can take care of it.”

Emmy set her lips firmly. “But, Bri Baby, I was only concerned about....”

“Fuck off, Em!” Brian growled. “I mean it. Stay away from Justin. When I think that he’s ready to leave his cell, then I’ll tell him that he can leave his cell – and not before. And if I catch you, Emmett, or you, Michael, or Barbie or Lou Lou or Wesley or Jackie or anyone else sniffing around that end of the tier, I’ll kick all of your asses!” Brian glared coolly at the two queens while Emmy and Michelle exchanged glances. “Is that clear?”

“Clear as crystal, sweetie,” said Em, inching away from the angry man. 

“Good,” said Brian. “Now back off of Justin.”

Brian stomped up to the third tier while Em and Michelle watched him go.

“I knew that fucking kid would be nothing but trouble the minute he came in here!” Michelle complained. “Ever since Brian hooked up with him it’s been one damn thing after another!”

“Don’t get your undies in a bundle, Michie,” Emmy soothed. “If Bri hears that you’ve been bad-mouthing Justin he’s liable to boot your butt across the Yard like a football.” 

“I don’t give a crap, Em!” Michelle snorted. “Brian got hurt and he almost died because of that damn punk! After the kid moved in with him, Brian changed. And it’s not a change for the better! You can’t talk to him about anything anymore. And he never comes around and shoots the breeze in the evening. And he never sits and eats with us.”

Em shrugged. “Bri Baby has bigger fish to fry, honey. He’s a jocker now and he’s got ‘man’ issues to deal with. This whole thing with Justin and his tattoo is only one of those issues. So I’d leave it alone if I was you, Michelle.”

“I’m going to talk to Ben about it! Maybe he can do something!” said Michelle, with determination.

Emmy grabbed Michelle by the arm and gave her a shake. “Listen, idiot! Don’t be messing around in jocker business! You want Ben to give you the same thing that Bri gave the kid? Stay out of it, Michelle!”

Michelle pouted, but she took Em’s words to heart. Ben was pretty mild-mannered, but he was also one of the biggest, most pumped-up guys in the Quad. He’d pushed her around a couple of times, but never given her a beating. And she didn’t want to provoke him into giving her one now, especially when things were going so well between them.

And Michelle had to admit that Ben’s high status in the Quad meant that Michelle’s position had also risen. As the bitch of the ‘Big Man’ Michelle got a respect she had never enjoyed before. Other queens deferred to her. Except Emmy, of course, who never deferred to anyone. But other inmates gave her gifts – bribes, really – to get the favor of the Juice Pig. Nothing big, but a pack of cigarettes or a bag of a hard-to-find brand of candy or gum went a long way on the tiers. Those little things mattered in the stifling atmosphere of Stanton.

“I think we all better stand back and let Brian do his thing, honey,” said Em. “You know that he didn’t hurt little Sunshine too badly or Dr. Caputo would have been up there pronto. The two of them are probably working things out between themselves.”

“Bri’s turned into a real hard ass!” said Michelle. 

“Brian is no longer one of the girls, sweetie,” Emmy reminded her friend. “And that’s something everyone in the joint will have to acknowledge. Now let’s get back upstairs and work on my new shirt! I want it ready by Friday night.”

The two queens sashayed up to the third tier, but Michelle was still frowning. She didn’t like change and she didn’t like Bri Baby acting like a macho jerk. Didn’t like him acting like he was too good to hang out with the queens anymore.

And acting like that punk Justin was the center of his whole universe! Kicking the kid’s ass meant more than just keeping the brat in line. It also meant that Brian wasn’t only pretending to be a jocker, but that he WAS a jocker. And he wasn’t Michelle’s jocker. 

And with Justin around, he never would be.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Father Bob wants an answer.

Chapter 13

 

Brian unlocked the cell door and carried the dinner tray inside.

Justin was lying on the bottom bunk with his sketchbook propped against his knees. He sometimes drew elaborate fantasy scenes filled with strange creatures and beautiful heroes in weird landscapes. But there was always a golden horse somewhere in the picture, grazing or standing in the background or running freely across the blue plain.

“Hey!” Justin smiled, setting his pad aside.

“Stew tonight,” said Brian. “Sorry it isn’t something better. But they had brownies for dessert. I got you two, of course.”

“Oh, boy!” said Justin. He sat on the edge of the bunk while Brian sat down next to him. Justin leaned over and kissed Brian. “The food looks great. You’re too good to me.”

“I am not,” said Brian, blushing. But he kissed the boy back. He wanted to toss the tray aside and push Justin back on the bunk, but he knew his lover was hungry. So he watched Justin dig into the stew with enthusiasm. Brian could never get over how much pleasure the kid took in eating the tasteless food that Stanton dished up. I guess when you’re young everything tastes good, thought Brian, although he didn’t remember it that way for himself.

Justin polished off the stew and one of the brownies. “I’m going to save the second one for later.”

“Good idea,” said Brian.

“Unless you want it?” Justin asked.

“I ate my dinner in the Chow Hall,” Brian reminded him. “That one is for you.”

Justin set the tray on the floor and then eased himself back on the bunk. Brian grinned down at him. 

“I think you can go out tomorrow,” said Brian. “It’s Movie Night and I know you don’t want to miss seeing the film. Maybe they’ll show ‘Star Trek.’”

“‘Star WARS’! Not ‘Star Trek’! That’s a television show. ‘Star Wars’ is a movie. The coolest movie ever!” Justin corrected him. “They’ll never show that here, Brian. We’ll go to see it when we get out. We’ll go together.”

“Sure,” said Brian. “Together.”

“Brian,” said Justin, hesitantly. “While you were at the Chow Hall someone came to the cell.”

Brian frowned. “Who?”

“Father Bob,” said Justin. “But I wouldn’t let him in. I thought maybe he heard about... about what happened. But I wouldn’t go to the door. I told him to go away. I would have told him to ‘fuck off,’ but he’s a priest, so I thought I better be polite. But he asked when you’d be back. I didn’t say anything.”

Brian took a deep breath. “That was good, Justin. You did the right thing.”

“You said nobody was supposed to come into our cell. Nobody! So I didn’t let him in,” Justin said proudly. “You don’t think he’s going to cause trouble, do you, Brian?”

“Hello! Anyone home?” called a voice.

“Shit,” said Brian. There was no way to get away from anyone in the Quad. They could always track you down.

“That’s him,” said Justin, sitting up on the bunk, “Father Bob.”

“I know,” said Brian. “Sit tight, Justin. I’ll take care of it.”

Brian got up and went to the door of the cell. 

The priest was standing there, grinning and holding a folder. “I came by earlier, but you were still at dinner. Can I come in, Brian?”

“My cellmate isn’t feeling well, Father,” Brian replied. “Could we do this another time?”

“But I need to get the paperwork in tomorrow, Brian,” Father Bob persisted. “The Family Visit was specifically requested to be as soon as possible.”

Brian grimaced. He opened the cell door and went out onto the tier, pulling the priest away from their cell.

“Listen, Father,” Brian said in a low voice. “Next week is Visiting Day for the East Wing. If my mother and father are so anxious to see me, why can’t they come to the Visitors’ Gallery and see me there? I’m sure an hour will be more than enough ‘family time’ for all of us.”

But the priest shook his head. “Your parents want this Family Visit very badly, Brian. I have been contacted by your mother’s pastor, Father Tom Butterfield, and he says that they have some things to speak to you about that they didn’t feel they would be able to say in the Visitors’ Gallery.”

“What kinds of things, Father?” asked Brian. “If they’re trying to convert me, tell them to forget it!”

But the priest looked at Brian sadly. He knew that this inmate had had a very hard time in prison. He was bitter and cynical and perhaps he had a right to be. “Please, Brian – try to open your heart. You parents are reaching out to you for a reason. Don’t turn them away.”

“You don’t know them, Father Bob,” Brian replied. “They turned their backs and closed their hearts to me a long time ago.”

“Then don’t make the same mistake that they did, Brian,” urged the priest. “You have done a lot of good for the men in this prison. And for your young cellmate, too.” Father Bob paused, watching Brian’s face. It softened when the priest mentioned the boy who was Brian’s cellie – and his lover.

“Okay,” Brian said softly. “But if things aren’t going well, I want to make sure that I can get out of there. I don’t want to have to stay for the entire 48 hours if I don’t want to. I also don’t like leaving Justin alone in the cell for two full nights. I’m his only protection, Father.”

“We’ll make certain that he’s safe, Brian,” the priest promised. “Perhaps he could stay over in the Hospital Wing while you’re gone? I could speak to Dr. Caputo.”

“Thanks, Father.” Brian sighed. There seemed no way to get out of this Family Visit. He held out his hand and shook hands with the priest. If only Ron could see him now – he’d have a shit fit! Brian making agreements with a priest! Meeting with his parents. And having the Family Visit that Ron himself had coveted for so long. Brian mused on the irony of it all.

“You won’t regret this, Brian,” said Father Bob. “It will be a new beginning for you and your family.”

“Sure,” said Brian. 

But he also knew better. There were no new beginnings for Brian in the Quad. Only more of the same for the next 10 years. That was Brian’s reality – for better or for worse.

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Safe… for now.

Chapter 14

 

Justin lay in his bunk and listened.

Brian and Father Bob talking at the cell door.

All Justin could hear were the words ‘Family Visit.’

And Justin knew what that meant.

He had been secretly reading as many of Ron’s letters to Brian as he could get his hands on. He wasn’t able to see them all. Sometimes Brian took them away from the cell before Justin had a chance to read them. But usually Brian hid them inside one of his books for a day or two before he carried them away – to the Law Library, Justin assumed. And then Brian hid them away there. Or else destroyed them.

But Justin had read enough of the letters to know that Ron was obsessed with the idea of having a so-called ‘Family Visit’ with his ex-cellie. And that meant a Conjugal Visit.

Justin couldn’t imagine that the prison authorities would allow it, but Ron seemed to have connections everywhere, even with Warden Horvath. If anyone could get a Conjugal, it was Ron. He’d think of an angle. Or he’d make threats. Or even resort to blackmail.

And it looked like it had worked.

If Father Bob said that it was going to happen, then it was definitely going to come down.

Brian and Ron in the trailer for 48 hours.

Justin buried his face in the pillow. 

It didn’t matter! He knew how much Brian cared about him. How much he loved him. Justin knew that! Justin didn’t doubt it for a minute, especially after the incident with his tattoo.

But Ron was another thing. He was all about Brian’s past. All about things that Justin would never know about and could never completely understand. Years of Brian and Ron being together and having a private bond that, no matter how much Brian might love Justin, would always exclude him.

Brian came back into the cell and locked the door behind him. He went and stood at the sink for a long time, staring at himself in the mirror.

“Brian?” said Justin. “Is everything okay?”

“Sure, kid,” said Brian, walking over to the bunk and sitting down next to Justin. “Everything’s dandy.”

“What did Father Bob want, Brian? It seemed like something important.”

Brian reached out and stroked Justin’s silky blond hair. “It was nothing. We’ll talk about it later. Why don’t you show me the new sketches that you’re working on?”

Justin nodded. Brian didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to talk about Ron to Justin. That had always been an area that Brian didn’t want to share with Justin. Ron – and also Brian’s family and his life before Stanton.

“I’ve been drawing some pictures for Wesley’s science fiction story. He started it in Miss Carver’s class last spring. It’s pretty good, too.” Justin picked up his sketchbook and opened it to the drawings he’d been working on. “This is the planet and these are some of the animals and plants.”

“They look kind of weird,” said Brian.

“They’re alien plants and animals, that’s why! They’re supposed to look weird!” Justin smiled. Brian was clueless about science fiction. “This is the space ship. I’m not really too happy with it yet, but I think that Wesley will like it.”

“It looks great to me,” said Brian. He knew nothing about art, but Justin’s sketches always amazed him. They were so creative and full of emotion. It must be a wonderful thing to have a talent like that. Something that no one could ever take away from you. Justin could draw a picture anywhere, even in prison. He had used his talent to trade for the things he needed for Brian’s birthday party and he often bartered pictures of the men and their loved ones for other luxuries, such as soap or shampoo or small plastic containers of Vaseline.

Justin began explaining Wesley’s story to Brian in detail, but Brian found his mind wandering. What could his parents be up to? What did they want with him? And why a Family Visit when an hour in the Visitors’ Gallery would do just as well?

“Brian?” asked Justin. “Are you listening to me?”

“Oh, sorry, Justin,” Brian said, shaking the cobwebs out of his head. “It’s a really interesting story. I didn’t think Wesley was such a good writer.”

“He isn’t,” admitted Justin. “His plot is pretty much ‘The Lord of the Rings’ in Outer Space, but at least it’s something. And he’s not that great a writer. Not like you are, Brian.”

Brian tossed his head. “I’m no writer!”

“Yes, Brian,” Justin insisted. “You ARE a good writer. And when your story is published in ‘The New Yorker’ everyone will know that you are. And then when you’re....” Justin stopped. He was afraid to say the word ‘free’ for fear he’d jinx things. 

“And then... we’ll see what happens.” Brian closed his eyes as Justin set the sketchbook down on the floor next to the bunk.

“It’s going to be perfect, Brian,” Justin said. 

Brian’s face looked so sad and beautiful in the shadowy light of the cell. Justin prayed for the day when everyone would see Brian the way that he saw him. The day when they knew what Brian had endured and understood that he wasn’t guilty of the things he had been convicted of. When they saw Brian the way he really was – as a hero. A beautiful, damaged, but triumphant hero.

“You’re going to be famous! And your story will be a book! Miss Carver says that one of the big publishing companies is sure to snap it up. And you’ll get a big advance! And be on the Best Seller List! And on television, too!”

“All of which I’ll enjoy from my cell,” Brian added.

Justin’s face fell. “No, Brian! You’ll get out. They’ll all see that you’re innocent!”

Brian looked at the boy’s trusting face. “But I’m not innocent, Justin. I may not be guilty of all of the charges that I was convicted of, but I’m not innocent, either. I drove the car. I’m an accessory to a crime. To a break-in and a bombing and a murder. And I say that in my manuscript. I admit it. I have no reason to lie.”

“But you don’t deserve to stay in prison for 20 years, Brian!” Justin almost shouted. “Especially when the people who really planned the bombing and did it got away. They’re free, Brian! And that’s not fair!”

“Life isn’t fair, kid,” Brian breathed. “Those are the breaks. And I have to live with them.”

“I don’t believe that, Brian,” Justin stated. “And I won’t stop fighting. Not ever!”

“Then you fight, Justin,” said Brian, holding Justin tightly on the narrow bunk. “Fight for me. But don’t sacrifice yourself for a lost cause. Because you have your whole life ahead of you. And someday – maybe sooner than you think – you’ll walk out of here. And I don’t want you to look back. Never look back, Justin.”

“I won’t leave here without you, Brian,” Justin vowed. “I won’t! We’ll go out of here together. I know we will!”

Brian turned his face away so that Justin couldn’t see his eyes. “Sure, kid. Whatever you say. Together. Always.”

And for that night, at least, it was true.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron plots and plans.

Chapter 15

 

Ron was sitting in his office, making notes for Visiting Day tomorrow.

He had a small pile of papers for Brian to look over, including information about literary agents and editors for his finished manuscript. They also needed to discuss exactly how they were going to handle the final editing of the ‘New Yorker’ excerpts. 

If the authorities got wind of what was going on, they would immediately put a halt to it, so Ron had to be careful. Most of the material was passing through Amy Carver by way of Justin, without Ron being involved in any way. That was the way Ron liked it. If Amy or the kid was caught smuggling Brian’s edited copy out of Stanton, they couldn’t connect it to Ron or prove that he had known about it, and so they wouldn’t stop Ron’s access to Brian.

However, this was legal stuff. There were contracts that needed to be signed before anything else could go ahead. So Ron had to take the chance. In his earlier, more reckless days, he simply would have forged Brian’s signature, but Brian wouldn’t put up with that kind of thing. He might even balk about publishing the manuscript even more than he already was. And Ron couldn’t take the chance that Brian would pass up his greatest opportunity to get a new trial.

Yes, that was what Ron was ultimately hoping for. Julie and John were certain that, given the right judge and a lot of favorable publicity, Brian would get a shot at a new trial. A year ago it had seemed an impossibility, but now....

It could happen. It could actually happen.

Ron looked up to see his wife, Jane, standing in the doorway.

“Did you make those brownies?” asked Ron. “Brian seems sick of the cookies. Julie gave me that brownie recipe and she says it’s quite good.”

Jane didn’t smile. She stared at Ron instead. “Speaking of Julie – she’s here.”

“Julie? Here?” Ron raised his eyebrows. “Well, send her up!” It must be something very important for Julie to come to the house.

Ron’s wife walked back downstairs and a moment later his colleague, Julie, came bounding into Ron’s office. The woman was always full of such enthusiasm, both in the office and out of it. And in the sack, too. She was one of Ron’s regular female fucks and also one of his favorites. Julie liked sex and she understood that with Ron there were no strings attached. They both understood that. And that made the sex easy-going and hot.

“Ronnie!” Julie said, breathlessly. “I just came from seeing my source in the Prosecutor’s Office.”

Ron jumped to his feet. “Something about Brian? Did they track down that bastard that seduced and framed him?”

“No, Ronnie,” said Julie. “Sorry. This is about Jim Stockwell. They took him into custody tonight, less than an hour ago. They put the cuffs on him and took him downtown. It hasn’t hit the news yet!”

Ron’s mouth flapped open. “I knew they were going to indict him, but why arrest him? I thought he was going to cooperate with the authorities?”

“This is beyond just some campaign irregularities and pay-offs in the Prosecutor’s Office, Ron,” said Julie, gleefully. “This may be about murder.”

“Shit!” said Ron. “That partner of his when he was a cop, right? And that murdered hustler!”

“Yes!” said Julie. “Someone who knows something squealed! It’s going to be big and it’s going to be nasty, Ron.”

“Okay,” said Ron, sitting back down behind the desk and motioning Julie to sit down next to him. “How is this going to affect our little drug case who is celling with Brian?”

“I’m not certain,” said Julie. “But the truth is that once one guy caves and begins singing his stool pigeon’s song about Stockwell’s dirty deeds, I’m willing to bet that others will follow. Stockwell made a lot of enemies in his varied career.”

“That’s for certain!” Ron snorted. 

Julie nodded. “If we can establish that there were enough irregularities in the way that Stockwell pursued the Justin Taylor case, that he had a political motive behind his targeting of Taylor, and that he particularly wanted the kid to get a harsh sentence in order to look like a big law-and-order guy, then I think we can find a judge willing to look the sentence over. Maybe even vacate the entire thing. Then the kid could be outside and free as a bird 10 minutes later!”

“Julie, you are a fucking treasure!” Ron grinned.

“I know am I,” she replied smugly. “I knew you’d be pleased, Ron. And Justin Taylor’s mommy should be very, very grateful for all you’ve done for her widdle baby boy!” 

Julie guffawed at her little joke. Ron screwing the kid’s hapless mother was a standing joke in the office at the Prisoners’ Legal Defense. It wasn’t exactly ethical, but it was funny as hell. Everyone knew that Ronnie would stick his dick in anything that moved, especially since he couldn’t get near the one person he really wanted to fuck – his ex-cellmate, Brian Kinney. And Jennifer Taylor was completely in the dark about Ronnie’s true motives. But Julie wasn’t. No, not at all.

“What are you going to tell Brian about this, Ron?” Julie asked. “I assume that you’re going out to Stanton to visit him tomorrow.”

“Of course,” said Ron. “But I don’t want to get Brian’s hopes up. Let’s take this one step at a time. However, I’m willing to bet that the kid will be out before Thanksgiving. Maybe even sooner.”

Yes, thought Ron. And he’d have to get to work on Jennifer. She had been thinking of moving to Chicago and starting over after her divorce became final. If her son got out of prison she would have even more of a reason to leave town and begin a new life. The kid could go back to college. And Ron could use his connections to find Jennifer a job. Chicago was far enough away to get both of them out of his hair. And to get the kid out of Brian’s life – for good.

Soon. So soon. Ron closed his eyes. And then he’d concentrate on getting Baby out. Maybe a year from now it would be a reality. He’d have Brian all to himself. His Baby. His.

Ron licked his lips. He could almost taste it.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Flashback to February 1970 in the Stanton Quad.

Chapter 16

 

Flashback to February 1970

 

Ron stepped back and turned away.

He felt like shit. He WAS a shit!

He tossed the belt on the floor and kicked it under the bottom bunk.

Teaching Brian a lesson had seemed like a good idea while he was doing it, but once it was over and Ron looked at the boy cowering on the floor in the corner of their cell, all Ron could think about was seeing Brian in Cisco’s cell, also cowering on a concrete floor. Also shaking after a beating. Also hiding his face so no one could see him crying.

So what was the big fucking difference between Ron and Cisco? Ron had thought the two men were worlds apart, but not anymore. Maybe it was prison that had done it. Or maybe it was the mindset of jocker culture. But it had definitely happened – Ron had resorted to violence. He had lashed out at his punk for daring to cross the forbidden line over into Ron’s personal life. Brian had written a letter to Ron’s wife, Jane, detailing the relationship between Ron and Brian. And that was unforgivable.

Or Ron had thought it was unforgivable. Until he had looked at the belt in his hand. And then at the boy shivering on the cell floor.

“Brian?” said Ron. “Are you all right?”

But the kid didn’t answer.

Ron couldn’t stay in that small space with Brian any longer. He had to get out. Get some air. Clear his head.

“I’ll be back in a little while, Brian. I have work to do,” he said abruptly. He didn’t wait to hear if there was an answer

Ron walked out, heading for the Law Library.

Brian didn’t move from his spot on the floor. 

He’d fucked up in a big way and there was no way to take it all back. Ron had beaten him. And he had deserved to be beaten. Brian tried to imagine what Ron’s wife had thought when she read Brian’s letter. Tried to imagine what Ron and his wife had said to each other during those 48 hours in the trailer. No wonder Ron was furious! No wonder the man had gotten out his belt and used it on his betraying, lying punk.

Brian ached all over. But even more than his body hurt, his heart hurt. He’d fucked up. He would always fuck up. No wonder he always ended up beaten down. On the floor. Kicked by the ones who should love him the most. By the ones who he loved the most. 

Brian shut his eyes tightly. He pulled his knees up under his chin and leaned against the wall of the cell. Maybe he could make himself invisible. Maybe he could simply disappear and never be seen again in the Quad. Or anywhere else. He would just dissolve and no longer exist, like sugar dissolved in a cup of hot coffee. Or like ice melted away in the spring and was forgotten.

“Hey, you!”

Brian looked up. There was a husky man standing in the doorway of the cell. Ron must have left it open when he walked out. Ron must have forgotten his own most important rule – never leave the cell door unlocked. Because you never know who might walk in. Or what they might want.

The man stepped forward. He was a new inmate, a short-term jocker in for assault and battery. He had followed Brian around the Yard and the Gym a few times until Ron warned him away. But Brian knew that the man was watching him. And now he was in their cell.

“Get out of here!” shouted Brian, pressing himself against the wall. But he was backed into a corner. He’d put himself in that corner and there was nowhere else to go. “My old man is coming right back in a minute!”

But the jocker grinned and shook his head. “Your daddy went off the tier. I watched him go down the stairs. I also heard him beating on you. The whole tier heard it. You been a bad boy? Is that why he kicked your ass?”

“That’s none of your fucking business!” said Brian, trying to sound tough. “Get out of here!”

“Maybe you’ll be looking for a new daddy soon, you think?” the jock laughed. “Maybe you’d like to hook up with me, Baby? You’re a pretty one. I can take good care of you. Better than that mealy-mouthed lawyer.”

“Go away!” Brian cried. 

He was trying not to panic. If this guy only wanted a piece of him, then there was nothing he could do about it except give it up. 

But what if what the guy said was true? What if Ron really did want to get rid of him? Maybe he no longer wanted a punk he couldn’t trust. Then Brian would be up for grabs. And this guy seemed to be the first in line.

The jocker undid his belt and opened up his workpants. He had a fat, uncut prick that poked out of his fly like a disfigured weapon.

“How about you get acquainted with my dick, Baby?” said the jock. “I want to know what I’ll be getting. I heard that you got a mouth as smooth and sweet as vanilla pudding. I want to see if what they say is true.”

The inmate moved up to Brian and took a handful of the boy’s dark hair in his calloused hand, pushing his head back. And then he shoved his hard prick in Brian’s tear-stained face.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback to February 1970.

Chapter 17

 

Flashback to February 1970

 

Ron had been headed for the Law Library, but he found himself in the Canteen instead.

He had a lot of credit saved up for commissary goods. His wife, Jane, sent him most of the personal products he needed, so Ron only used his Law Library salary draw at the Canteen when he ran out of something. And Brian rarely asked for anything for himself, unlike some punks, who were constantly after their jockers to buy them candy or soda or cigarettes.

There was a display of candy bars by the checkout counter. Kit Kat bars. Brian liked those. At Christmas Ron had let the kid go down and pick out treats from the Canteen, using Ron’s credit. Ron remembered that he’d brought back some Kit Kat bars. That had surprised Ron because Brian wasn’t usually that interested in food. But he’d gobbled down the chocolate wafers happily.

Ron took a handful of the Kit Kats, a couple of cartons of cigarettes, and a small bottle of baby shampoo up to the counter. These things wouldn’t make up for hitting Baby, but at least they would show that Ron was sorry. It wasn’t as if they had greeting cards designed especially for inmates that voiced sentiments such as, ‘Dear Punk – I didn’t mean to beat you up – Your Daddy.’ Maybe they should have such a thing. Brian would find that idea funny and they could have a good laugh together over it. Then things would be back to normal.

At least Ron hoped they would be back to normal.

Ron went back up to the third tier with his goods

“Hey, Mr. R.,” said one of the older guys hanging out in front of the Rec Room. “I’d get my ass back to your cell if I was you. But you didn’t hear it from me, okay?”

“What do you mean?” asked Ron. “What’s wrong?”

“Just do it,” said the man, seriously. Then he ducked back into the Rec Room. 

Ron hurried down to the end of the tier where E-320 was located. The door of the cell was wide open. And Ron realized that he had left without locking it.

“Shit,” breathed Ron.

There was a man in the cell. Ron could only see his back, but it was obvious what he was doing.

“You just made the biggest fucking mistake of your pathetic life, asshole!” Ron yelled.

“Fuck,” said the other inmate, turning around. He had his dick out. Ron wished that he carried a shank so that he could cut it off.

“Yes, ‘fuck’!” said Ron darkly. “I’m going to make sure that you are so screwed you’re never going to get unscrewed! I’ll arrange for someone to mess you up so badly that you’ll be even uglier than you are now. And I’ll fix it that you spend so much time in the Hole that you’ll forget what daylight looks like.”

“Shit,” mumbled the inmate, stuffing his prick back into his workpants. He never imagined that the fucking lawyer would be back so soon. The lawyer wasn’t a big guy, but he had plenty of connections. The rumor was that Rosenblum had once lawyered for the Mob and that the Wise Guys in Philly still owed him favors. The big inmate didn’t doubt that the fucking shark could make his short-time seem long and miserable. But he’d been so fucking horny – and the punk was so fucking pretty! So he took the chance. And he blew it. “Just let me finish, dude! I’ll pay you what the kid is worth! I fucking swear!”

“You swear? Fuck you!” Ron shouted. “There’s not enough credit or swag in this entire prison to equal what my kid is worth! But if you’ve done anything to hurt him, I swear that I’ll see to it that you never use that pitiful excuse for a dick again as long as you live!” he threatened.

“I didn’t hurt him,” the inmate insisted, lamely. “He invited me in here.”

Ron looked beyond the other man to where Brian was curled up on the floor of the cell, his long, beautiful fingers covering his face.

“That’s a lie, you bastard!” said Ron. “And that means another strike against you. First you invade my cell, then you mess with my punk, and now you lie about him. You better ask for a transfer over to the South Wing the minute you walk out of this room – or else I’ll make certain they send you somewhere that’s ten times worse!”

The hulking inmate beat it out of the cell. A bunch of jockers from the tier and their punks had gathered outside of Ron’s cell to observe the show. They all laughed as they watched the new guy flee back to his own cell like he was really afraid of the lawyer.

Ron went to the door and glared at the loitering men. “Anyone who thinks that was funny can kiss my ass! And don’t come crawling to me when you need my services, because I’ll fuck you all up big time! Do you hear me, you vultures?”

The men turned away from the lawyer’s eyes. Almost every one of them had a case pending or a parole hearing coming up. And without Ron’s expertise, things could go badly for them. Very badly.

“And if I catch anyone near my cell, or so much as breathing in Baby’s direction, there will be hell to pay! Got it?” Ron added. “And I’m not fucking kidding!”

Ron went back into the cell and locked the door behind him.

“Come on, Baby,” he said, holding out his hand to the kid. “It’s okay.”

Brian took Ron’s hand and got to his feet unsteadily. Ron sat the boy down on the edge of the bottom bunk and pulled Brian’s baggy tee shirt off over his head. There were a couple of welts on his back and his upper arms where the belt had hit him, but nothing too serious. Ron had been striking out more in anger and frustration than actually trying to inflict any damage on the kid, so his blows had been mainly hit or miss. But the real damage wasn’t on Brian’s body. It was in his head.

“I’m sorry,” whispered Ron, wiping Brian’s swollen mouth with the tee shirt. “For what happened in here.”

“You left the door unlocked,” said Brian, softly. “And he walked right in. There was nothing I could do!”

“I know, Baby,” said Ron. Fighting back was not an option for a punk against a jocker, even a strange jocker. Brian might have gotten his ribs broken or his pretty face bashed in. The kid had learned that lesson the hard way in the low-riders’ tip. “It wasn’t your fault. I should have locked the door. But I was so fucking angry that I wasn’t thinking when I walked out of here.”

“I know,” said Brian. “You were angry at me.”

“No,” admitted Ron. “Angry at myself. For what I’d done to you. I had no right to hit you. No right to hurt you, Baby.”

“Yes, you did,” said the boy. “I sent that letter. I did it. I wanted to make your wife mad so that she’d divorce you.”

“It’s all right,” Ron replied. “She’s not going to divorce me. I explained to her the way things are in here. And she’ll just have to accept it.” Ron paused. “And accept you.”

“You mean... you aren’t going to get rid of me?” said Brian, incredulously. “You still want me around?” He almost couldn’t believe it.

“Of course I want you around.” Ron pulled back the blanket from the bunk. “Lie down here and I’ll take care of you.”

Brian lay down on his stomach while Ron got a towel and wet it at the sink. He wiped the traces of blood off the kid’s back. The marks would be gone in a few days and all of this would be forgotten. But Ron could still see the round scars on his back from where Cisco and his goons had burned Brian’s tender skin with their cigarettes. Those were taking longer to fade, if they ever did completely.

Ron leaned over and kissed the marks, gently. The kid sighed. 

“Baby, you know that... that I...I....” But Ron stopped. 

He couldn’t say it. Even though he was feeling it, he couldn’t say the words out loud. It was one thing to be in prison and fuck a punk or even have strong feelings for a punk. Yes, even to love the kid. But saying that out loud – that was crossing the line. That was no longer being a man. That was something only a real faggot would say. And Ron was no faggot. He was just a regular guy who happened to have Baby. Who happened to want Baby. And love Baby. But that didn’t mean anything outside of this cell.

Ron took off his clothes and got into the bunk next to the kid.

“I’ll make it up to you, Baby,” he promised, stroking Brian’s smooth skin. “I brought you that candy that you like. Okay? And I won’t hit you anymore. I swear.”

Baby clung to his jock desperately. “I don’t care if you hit me, just don’t get rid of me! Please! Don’t put me out in the Yard! Don’t abandon me!”

“I won’t,” whispered Ron. 

He reached for the small container of Vaseline that he kept in a niche in the cell wall. He slicked himself up and then eased himself slowly into the boy. Even after all that had happened to Brian in the South Wing, and as many times as they’d fucked, the kid was still as tight as a vice. And his ass felt like nothing else in the world.

Brian gasped with both pain and pleasure. He was safe now. Safe. Finally.

“You’ll always belong to me, Baby,” Ron breathed against Brian’s ear. “Always. Don’t worry. I’ll never abandon you. And I’ll never let you go. Never.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin makes a deal with the devil -- Ron.

Chapter 18

 

September 1978

 

Ron and Jennifer Taylor drove out from Pittsburgh to Stanton together, but they separated before walking into the Visitors’ Gallery. Jennifer sat down at a table near the front, while Ron took a table that was farther from the main door. He had private business to conduct with Brian and didn’t want to be under the watchful eyes of the C.O.’s.

Ron sat nervously, waiting for the prisoners to be let into the Gallery. He was keyed up and anxious to see Brian. The weeks between visits seemed to be longer with every month that went by, although the amount of time was exactly the same. But ever since Brian had been stabbed, Ron felt that the two of them were running out of time. For days before Ron went to Stanton he was edgy, snapping at Jane and grumbling at his colleagues at the PLD. 

The papers in Ron’s folder were very important. There were contracts and agreements and proof-sheets for Brian’s manuscript. Brian needed to take them, read them, correct them, and sign off on them – all without getting caught by the C.O.’s. It was a piece of cake – except that nothing was ever really a piece of cake in prison.

The bell rang, the doors opened, and the inmates filed in. Justin was one of the first to walk into the Visitors’ Gallery. Ron sat up in his chair because he knew that Brian would be close behind the kid.

But Ron didn’t see Brian.

Instead, the kid – Justin – walked right past where his mother was waiting and headed directly for Ron’s table. Ron stared in disbelief as Brian’s punk pulled out the chair and sat down opposite him.

“Um... Justin,” said Ron. He kept glancing at the door. “Where’s Brian? I have papers to give him.” Ron leaned over confidentially. “This is important stuff about ‘The Project.’” That was their code word for Brian’s manuscript – ‘The Project.’

“I know,” said Justin. “That’s why I came over. Brian tried to call you this morning, but there was the usual problem with the phones.” The payphones that the men in Stanton depended on to communicate with the outside were infamously undependable, often out-of-order or destroyed by inmates who ripped them off the wall during unsatisfactory phone calls with their loved ones.

“He’s not sick, is he?” Ron said with concern.

“No,” said Justin, taking a deep breath. “Brian is... gone for the next 48 hours. So he couldn’t come to Visiting Day.”

“Gone?” Ron cried in alarm. “What the hell do you mean? Gone where?”

“He’s at the trailers. He went over there just after lunch. He’s having a Family Visit,” said Justin, his voice chilly.

Ron sat back in the chair, dumbfounded. “A... a Family Visit? Are you shitting me?”

“No,” said Justin. “I only wish that I was. But it’s true. He’s over there right now.”

“Having a Family Visit with WHO?” Ron was trying not to shout.

“Who else?” Justin said in disgust. “His parents. Mr. and Mrs. Kinney. He’s supposed to be staying with them in that fucking trailer for the next 48 hours!”

“His parents!” Now Ron really was shouting. 

One of the C.O.’s came over and frowned at the pair. “Keep it down or this visit is over!”

“Sorry, officer,” said Ron. “I’ll keep it down.”

Justin smiled tightly. “I see that your reaction to Brian’s Family Visit is about the same as mine was. I couldn’t fucking believe it!”

“His parents,” Ron repeated. “But why? Brian’s parents don’t give a damn about him! They haven’t written to him or contacted him in years. So why now? What is this all about?”

“I wish I knew,” admitted Justin. 

Justin gazed at Ron. This was the longest conversation that he’d ever had with the man. His rival. No, not his rival. Not anymore. Justin didn’t believe for a moment that Brian was torn in any way between Justin and this graying man with lines around his penetrating blue eyes. 

But Brian had lived with Ron for 8 years in the same cell where he now lived with Justin. Lived in it, cried in it, dreamed in it, and fucked in it – all with this man. Who was now involved with Justin’s mother. How bizarre was that? So Justin wanted to know as much about Ron Rosenblum as possible. What he was thinking. What he was planning for Brian. And what he thought he was doing with Justin’s mother. 

Both Brian and Justin depended on Ron as their main link to the outside world – and also as their link to the Prisoners’ Legal Defense and possible freedom. In that, Brian and Justin were no different from any other inmates. They were hoping for an appeal. Hoping for new evidence. Hoping for a break in their cases. Or just hoping. And the PLD was the organization that gave them that hope.

What would Ron say if he knew that I’ve been reading his letters to Brian, Justin wondered. He’d probably freak out. Some of the stuff was pretty personal. Intimate. Sexual. I bet your wife doesn’t know what you’re writing to your old cellmate, thought Justin. Seeing Ron sitting there in the Visitors’ Gallery in his perfect business suit, looking like the straightest guy in the world, no one would ever guess the truth. But I know, Justin smiled to himself. I know! You’re just another dick-hungry fag!

When Justin first heard about Brian’s Family Visit – eavesdropping on Brian’s conversation with Father Bob – he assumed that Ron had finally managed to swing the Conjugal he had been working on for almost a year. Thinking about that made Justin’s heart ache. Thinking about Brian alone with his old lover for 48 hours. Reconnecting with him. Laughing with him. Making love with him. 

But as the day approached and Brian plunged deeper and deeper into gloom, he finally confessed to Justin about his impeding Family Visit – with his parents! That had thrown Justin for a loop, so he could imagine how it would hit Ron.

“I still have to get this material to Brian right away,” said Ron, purposefully. 

Ron was stunned by the idea that Brian was in the trailers with his mother and father, but he couldn’t let that throw him off his main purpose. The papers. Brian’s manuscript. Baby’s ticket out of the Stanton Quad.

Ron didn’t want to chance mailing the papers into Stanton. The C.O.’s always checked mail going into prison a lot more carefully than mail going out because of the chance that illegal contraband might be sent in. They probably wouldn’t look too closely at printed material or legal documents, but you never knew. Ron wanted these papers to go directly into Brian’s hands.

And the kid, Brian’s blond cellmate, was the only way to do it.

“I’ll give it to him,” said Justin. “I understand how important it is.”

“Do you, Justin? Really?” said Ron.

“I started this whole thing when I gave....” Justin glanced around, but no guards were nearby to hear his words. “When I gave Brian’s manuscript to Miss Carver. I want to see this through to the end. I know that it will get Brian out of here.” Justin paused and licked his dry lips. “It HAS to get him out of here!”

“Then we’re both on the same page, kid,” said Ron. He placed the manila folder on the table between them and slipped it across into Justin’s hands.

“I have to call the C.O.,” said Justin. 

“I know.” Ron swallowed.

Justin raised his hand and one of the C.O.’s came over to the table. “Mr. Rosenblum is giving me the forms for the inmates from the Prisoners’ Legal Defense because Brian, my cellmate, is at the trailers with his parents today.” Justin found it easier simply to tell the truth as much as possible. That way it was harder to get caught in a lie. Brian had taught him that lesson. And Brian had learned it from Ron.

The C.O. glanced at the papers as Justin opened the folder and flipped through them. The guard was chiefly interested in whether the men were smuggling in drugs or weapons. Or trying to sneak in a porno magazine. But this was just forms and stuff like that. He made a check on the folder with a red pen and initialed it. “That’s okay to go inside.”

“Thanks, officer,” said Justin, standing up. Then he looked at Ron. “I have to go over and talk to my mother before she starts hyperventilating.

“Yes, of course. Jennifer is anxious to visit with you.” Ron stood up, too. And he extended his hand to the boy. “Thanks for your help, Justin,” said Ron.

Justin hesitated before he shook Ron’s hand. But then he did shake it. They were all in this together. He and Brian and Ron. They all had the same goal. Getting justice for Brian. 

Ron’s hand was hard and dry and his handshake was firm. He squeezed Justin’s soft hand tightly. Don’t fuck this up, kid, he was saying. I’m counting on you.

Justin looked his lover’s ex-lover in the eye. “I won’t fuck up,” he said out loud. “I promise.”

“And neither will I,” Ron replied.

And that sealed the deal between the two of them.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family Visit.

Chapter 19

 

“Are you nervous, Brian?” asked Father Bob as the two men walked towards the trailers from the Administration Building.

Brian had been strip-searched and ‘keestered’ before he was allowed to leave the main Quad. Brian hated that kind of body search. Since he had never had a trailer visit before and never left Stanton – except in an ambulance – he hadn’t been searched very often. It wasn’t a process that he cared to repeat, but he knew that it was inevitable that he would be ‘keestered’ again when he finished his Family Visit. Frankly, Brian could think of better uses for his ass than for smuggling contraband, but apparently the C.O.’s didn’t share his views.

“I guess so,” said Brian. “More nervous about what to expect. And what my parents expect. I haven’t seen them in almost a decade.”

Father Bob shook his head. “That’s a long time to be estranged from your family, Brian.”

“It wasn’t exactly my choice, Father,” said Brian. “It was partly the choice of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania Board of Prisons and partly the choice of Mr. and Mrs. John Kinney of Pittsburgh. Mom and Pop knew where I was. I haven’t gone anywhere.” Brian stopped and took a deep breath. “I don’t know, Father. I think this is a huge mistake.”

“Perhaps this is their way of trying to make things up to you, Brian?” said Father Bob, hopefully.

“I’ll find out soon enough,” Brian replied.

The three trailers set aside for Family Visits looked battered and forlorn, like the last remnants of an abandoned camp ground. They huddled on the edges of a desolate, littered field just inside the outer walls of Stanton Correctional Facility for Men. Layers of fencing, razorwire, and water-filled trenches surrounded the prison and beyond that there was nothing but an expanse of empty land and, in the distance, the highway that led to the rest of the world.

The door of one of the trailers opened and another priest, a sandy-haired man in his thirties, smiled. “I’m Tom Butterfield,” he said. “You must be Brian. And Father McHale, of course. We’ve spoken on the telephone.”

Father Bob shook hands with the younger priest. “I’m happy to meet you at last, Father Tom.”

Brian watched as the two priests glad-handed each other. He was suddenly seized with a sense of panic. He wanted to turn and run back towards the main buildings of Stanton. Away from this wasteland. Away from the people inside the trailers. Back to where he would be safe. Back to his cell – and Justin.

“Come in,” said Father Tom, motioning for Brian to come up the steps into the trailer.

And Brian stepped inside.

The first thing he noticed was how cold it was. The trailer was air conditioned and a blast of freezing air hit him full in the face. A television was blaring in the corner. And his old man was sitting on a brown sofa, watching the television.

Just like home, thought Brian. Pop sitting in front of the tube, tuning everything else out.

Brian looked around. And there was his mother. Brian was shocked at how old she looked. Her hair was almost completely gray and her face was lined. She had been a beautiful woman in her day – tall and chestnut-haired, with a strong, sharp face. But now she was no longer young. Her hair was pulled back and she wore a baggy pink sweater over a plain blue dress. I must really be a fag, thought Brian, because those colors don’t go together at all.

“Brian,” she said. And she stood there. They both stood there and looked at each other.

And that’s when Brian knew what he wanted from his mother. What he wanted more than anything else in the world. He wanted his mother to hug him. To touch him, hold him, tell him that she loved him and that she had missed him for the last nine years.

Instead she stared at him. Looked her only son up and down.

“You’re so tall, Brian,” she said, finally, as if meeting a stranger for the first time. “I’d almost forgotten how tall you were.”

“And I’d almost forgotten what you were like, Mom,” Brian said sadly. And he knew that she would do anything that she could not to touch him or come too close to him for the entire time they were stuck in that trailer.

“Say hello to Brian, Jack,” Joan Kinney urged her husband.

That’s when Brian noticed that his father had a tube up his nose and a tank of oxygen sitting by his side. Jack Kinney turned around. He looked even older than Brian’s mother. He had been a burly, brawling Irishman, but now he seemed wasted and thin, like a shadow of the man Brian remembered.

He’s sick, thought Brian. That’s why they came here to see me. He’s worse than sick. It was so obvious. Jack Kinney was going to die. And probably very soon.

Brian looked at the earnest young priest who was grinning encouragingly at Brian and nodding at his mother. He’s the one, thought Brian. This was all his idea. He’s convinced my mother to make this final gesture before the old man kicks off. It isn’t about me at all. They still don’t give a damn about me. It’s about them and their fucking guilt.

“Why don’t you sit down and watch TV with your father, Brian?” Joan Kinney said. “I was just getting Father Tom some lemonade. Would you like some, Father...?”

“Father Bob,” said the older priest. “I would love some lemonade, Mrs. Kinney. And I’m sure Brian would like some, too.”

“Of course,” Joan said stiffly. “I’ll get three glasses.”

Brian sat down in an easy chair that had been crammed into the small living room of the trailer next to the sofa. His father hardly even looked his way. He was watching some game show on the television. And making a wheezing sound with every gasp of breath.

Brian glanced around the trailer. If only he could have this place for 48 hours without his parents. Just him and Justin. A door was open at one end where he could see a small bedroom with a real bed. And there was probably a small bathroom, too, with a shower where you could wash yourself for as long as you wanted. And the little kitchen, with a stove and a refrigerator, where his mother was getting the lemonade. You could put all of your favorite food in that fridge and eat it whenever you wanted to. Make any kind of food you wanted on that stove. That was a miracle! This would be a piece of paradise – if only he wasn’t stuck here with all of these people. His parents and two priests. That was a fucking nightmare!

“Brian, Father Bob tells me that you run the prison legal service,” said Father Tom, trying to make conversation.

“I’m the inside liaison for the Prisoners’ Legal Defense,” Brian answered. “I handle the Law Library, I advise inmates of their rights, help them fill out forms, that sort of thing.”

“That’s very important work, Brian,” said Father Tom. He beamed at Brian and actually seemed impressed. “How did you get trained for that? Did you take courses?”

“I took a few courses at Stanton,” said Brian. “But mainly my cellmate trained me. He was a lawyer before he went inside and he had the job, so he made me his assistant. He got out over a year ago and I took over from there.”

“Working in the Law Library is one of the highest status jobs in any prison, Mrs. Kinney,” Father Bob explained to Joan as she brought out the glasses of lemonade and handed them around. “It’s a real credit to Brian that he’s so young and has such a vital job. All of the men depend on his services.”

“Crooks looking for some loophole to get out of jail, you mean?” Jack Kinney mumbled from his chair.

“Every man has the right to know what the Law is, Pop,” said Brian, trying to keep his voice even. “Even inmates. Even men who are guilty. And even men who are innocent, too.” 

“Like you?” Jack huffed.

“I never said I was innocent,” Brian replied. This is useless, Brian thought. How the fuck can I get out of here? “Not that it would matter to you, Pop. You made up your mind the minute I was arrested.”

Jack Kinney snorted and kept his eyes on the television.

“Listen,” said Brian, impatiently. “Why don’t you tell me what this is all about so that we can get this show on the road, okay? Because there’s no way in hell that I’m going to sit here for 48 hours and watch television and play ‘Leave It To Beaver’ with you people. I have work to do back in the Quad. And... and my cellmate is without my protection while I’m in here. That’s more important to me than sitting in this metal box and making stupid chitchat.”

“Brian, please try to behave yourself! Father Tom and Father Bob have gone to a lot of trouble to arrange this meeting,” Joan Kinney scolded her son. “It’s just like you to try to pick a fight the minute you get here!”

Brian stood up. “Listen, Mom, I don’t really want to be here. I know that you brought me out here for some big announcement, so why don’t you just get it over with? Then I can return to the Quad, my cell, and my cellmate, Justin – who also happens to be my lover, in case anyone is interested – and you and Pop can go back to ignoring my existence the way you’ve done for the past nine years. Okay?”

“Brian!” said Joan sharply. “Shame on you!”

“I told you this was a stupid idea, Joanie!” Jack rasped from the sofa. “But you had to drag this goddamn priest into things! ‘Make peace with your son before you die, Jack!’ What a load of bullshit, Father – excuse my fucking French!”

“Jack!” Joan shouted. “Watch your mouth in front of Father Tom and Father Bob!!”

“I knew it,” said Brian. He turned to Father Bob. “Why didn’t you just tell me that he was dying and leave it at that? Did you really need to put me through this charade? So, what is it, Pop?” Brian asked Jack. “And how long do you have?”

“Lung cancer,” the old man coughed out. “And they don’t think I’ll make it to Christmas.”

“Well, Merry Christmas,” said Brian. “I’m sorry you got dragged all the way out here for nothing.” Brian went to the door of the trailer. “Oh, and thanks for the lemonade.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Trailer Visit with the Kinneys.

Chapter 20

 

Brian stepped outside the trailer and lit a cigarette.

That was quick, he thought. Now I have to go through the fucking search process all over again. His asshole wasn’t looking forward to that at all.

“Brian?” said Father Tom, coming out of the trailer. “Please don’t go.”

Brian regarded the young priest. “You want me to stay here and spend the next two nights in that trailer with them? Are you crazy, Father?”

The priest sighed. “It’s taken me months to get them this far, Brian. Please stay and try to speak with them.”

Brian shook his head. “Can you tell me why I should do that, Father Tom? You saw how they are. This isn’t about me at all. I’m a stranger to them – and I’ve always been a stranger even though I lived with them for 18 years. They don’t know who I am and they don’t want to know. It has nothing to do with me being in prison. It doesn’t even have to do with me being a queer. It’s just ME that they hate.”

“I’m sure you’re wrong, Brian,” said Father Tom. “I’m sure that your mother and father love you in their own way.” 

“Love me?” Brian almost laughed in the priest’s face. “My parents don’t love me! They’ve never loved me. They didn’t want me. Your religion forced them to get married when my mother was pregnant with my sister. And then your religion also convinced my mother to have me even though she and my old man didn’t want another kid. Do you know what it’s like to grow up knowing that? To have your own parents actually tell you that they didn’t want you to be born? It’s not a very nice feeling, Father.”

“I’m sorry, Brian,” said Father Tom, regretfully. “No child should have to hear something like that.”

“No shit!” Brian replied. “But I thought I’d be able to escape them. I got a scholarship to Penn State. I was going to make a life for myself, by myself.” Brian took a long drag on his cigarette. “But then it all went to hell. I... I fell in love with the wrong person. For the first time in my life I was really happy. I thought my life was changing for the better. And... and then....” 

Brian paused. He didn’t know how much this strange priest knew or cared about his case or how he had been convicted. But it didn’t matter anyway. The past didn’t matter. There was nothing you could do to change the past. You could only try to survive the present.

“I have to get going, Father. Maybe I can make it back to my cell for 4:00 headcount.”

“Brian, please stay for dinner,” urged the priest. “At least do that much.”

“Dinner?” Brian sniffed. “You think my mother is going to make dinner for me? Get real!”

“She’s already made it, Brian,” said Father Tom. “She brought food and she was going to heat it up in the oven. And she made a chocolate cake. She said it was your favorite kind. Please, Brian - they have been planning this visit for weeks. I’ve been counseling them about it.”

“Why, Father?” asked Brian. “Why do you give a shit? I know it’s your job as a priest to save souls and all that bullshit, but why drag me into it?”

Father Tom touched Brian’s arm and squeezed it. Brian stared into the priest’s face. He seemed sincere, but there was something else there. Brian couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“Because your father is going to die soon, Brian, that’s why. The truth is that they are both terrified. Your father is terrified of death and your mother is terrified of being alone. Do you know that they both have had trouble with alcohol over the years?”

“Alcohol? Then nothing’s changed,” said Brian, coldly. “They’ve both been alcoholics for as long as I can remember. But I can’t help them with their fear. Do you have any idea of the kind of fear I have to deal with every day of my life in the Quad? Do you know that I’ve been raped, Father? That I had to prostitute myself to survive? That I was a junkie? That I tried to kill myself more than once? And that I almost died last spring when my psychopathic ex-jocker stabbed me after raping my cellmate? So don’t tell me about my parents’ fucking fear! If you want to know the truth, I think the old man is better off dead! At least he’ll die in a clean bed, surrounded by his so-called loved ones. And I’m sure you’ll be there, too, Father Tom, saying prayers and holding his hand.”

“Yes,” said Father Tom. “I’ll be there if he wants me to be.” 

Brian nodded. “Of course you will. But me – I’m likely to die in a dark cell, alone. Or maybe on a cement floor in some prison corner. And who will be there to hold my hand, Father? Who the fuck?”

Brian began striding back towards the Administration Building, but Father Tom still followed him.

“I know you’re bitter, Brian,” said the priest.

Brian halted in his tracks. 

“Bitter? Bitter doesn’t even begin to cover it! How about I’m so fucking full of rage that I almost can’t stand it sometimes? But I have to stand it, Father Tom. I have to hold it in. Because I want to live and the only way you can survive in the joint is by being in control.” Brian took another puff on his cigarette and then tossed the butt away. “And I have my cellmate to take care of, too. I have to think of Justin and his survival. Because he’s a short-termer, Father. And he’s going to get out of here in one piece if it’s the last thing I do in my life. That’s MY fucking religion! And that’s why I can’t let my bitterness show. Because I can’t let Justin lose hope.”

“Brian, I know that you’re a good person at heart,” said Father Tom.

“You don’t know that at all, Father!” Brian shouted. “I’m a convicted murderer! I’m in for 20-to-life! I’m a number on a roster – or on a workshirt.” Brian touched the number over his breast. 196921455. “That’s all I am.”

“I don’t believe that, Brian,” said Father Tom. “Father Bob says that you’re always helping other people. So maybe you might take this opportunity to help your own parents. And to help yourself. Please try! Just stay for dinner. Father Bob and I will stay and referee.”

“Referee?” Brian laughed. “Where the hell were you when I was 15 and really needed someone to referee between me and the old man?”

“I’m sorry about that, Brian,” said the priest. “I’m sorry that no one was there for you. But I’m here now.”

“Whatever the fuck,” said Brian. 

He looked up at the sky. It was so clear and blue. The prison seemed far away. And the trailer was air conditioned. He was a little curious about what his mother had cooked. She was a horrible cook, so it was liable to be something inedible, but Brian was used to inedible food.

Brian sighed. He turned and began walking back to the trailer with the priest. 

“After dinner I can go back, okay?” said Brian. “Because that’s all I can take.”

“I promise, Brian!” The priest grinned. 

It was a start, thought Father Tom. One step. But maybe there would be more later. God willing!


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian back where he belongs.

Chapter 21

 

September 1978

 

Justin climbed up to the third tier, sluggishly following the C.O. who was escorting him over from the Hospital Wing.

He yawned as they walked down the quiet row of cells. Justin had slept last night on a cot in the breakroom of the Hospital. Or, rather, he had tried to sleep. All night he kept waking up, listening to the sounds of sick inmates coughing or mumbling to themselves in the ward. Listening to the sounds of the night orderly’s transistor radio playing disco music in the office next door. Listening to the night nurse making his rounds.

Listening for, but not hearing, the sound of Brian’s breathing next to him in bed.

Brian had asked Dr. Caputo to allow Justin to stay in the Hospital while he was gone for the 48 hours his Family Visit was scheduled. It was a good idea in theory, but Justin found it impossible to get comfortable on the lumpy cot, or to get any rest in any room where Brian wasn’t. Justin thought that Brian’s fear for Justin’s safety while he was in the trailer with his parents was exaggerated, but Justin wasn’t about to argue about it with his jocker, especially not after the incident with Justin’s tattoo.

Finally, when Justin saw that it was beginning to get light, he got up and dressed. Then he asked the night nurse to call one of the C.O.’s to take him back upstairs so that he could be in his cell before morning headcount.

The C.O. unlocked the door of E-320, let Justin inside, then locked it again.

The moment Justin took a single step into the cell, he knew that Brian was there. He could smell him. Sense him. Feel it from somewhere deep inside. Justin went over to the bottom bunk and sat on the edge of it. 

Brian’s eyes were already open. “Hey,” Brian whispered. He lifted the sheet and Justin kicked off his shoes and climbed into the bunk.

“Hey.” Justin put his arms around his lover and pressed against him. Even one night away from Brian had seemed like an eternity. “What are you doing back already? Did your parents bail out on you?”

“Nope,” said Brian. “I bailed out on them. I stayed for the dinner, but I couldn’t do any more than that. My mother brought some ground beef casserole that made Stanton’s slop seem like dinner at the Ritz. Then she pulled out a cake she made that she claimed used to be my favorite dessert. It was chocolate on chocolate on chocolate. It was so sweet I couldn’t even swallow it. The two priests ate most of it.”

“Two priests?” Justin said in surprise. “I knew that Father Bob was going over to the trailer with you, but I didn’t think he’d stick around for dinner.”

“Oh, he stayed,” said Brian. “Which was probably a good thing. I didn’t have to say very much. Father Bob sort of picked up the slack in the conversation.”

“Who was this other priest?” asked Justin. “And what was he doing there?”

“Father Tom. He’s my mother’s pastor. Turns out that Father Tom was the one who cooked up the whole idea of this Family Visit fiasco. He had some ‘Godly’ notion about reuniting Mom and Pop with the Prodigal Son. That’s me, by the way.”

“I figured that much,” sighed Justin. “That’s my role in our family, too. The Prodigal Son.”

“See?” Brian smiled. “We have more in common than just a taste for dick and our stunning good looks!”

“So did you have a big reconciliation scene, Brian?” Justin asked. “Did they cry and tell you that they were sorry for treating you like shit for so many years?”

“No.” Brian rubbed his forehead with his long fingers. “It wasn’t really about me at all. It was about them. Mainly about my old man.” Brian swallowed. “He’s dying. They don’t think he’ll last until Christmas.”

Justin felt a lurch inside his gut. As much as he was angry at his own father, the thought of Craig Taylor dying was horrible to think about. Even after all the shit Craig had pulled, Justin still loved his dad. At least, he loved the dad he remembered from his childhood.

And Justin knew that although he claimed to be indifferent to his parents, Brian still had strong feelings about them. The problem was that those feelings were so conflicted that Brian was unable to sort them out or talk about them, not even to his lover.

“I’m so sorry about your dad, Brian,” whispered Justin.

“Don’t be.” Brian closed his eyes, trying not to think about it. “Jack has lived his life. If it’s time to go, then it’s his time to go.”

“Did he want to say goodbye to you?” Justin asked gently.

“Not really. I’m not certain what it was that Pop really did want. Maybe only to see me once more.” Brian caressed Justin’s golden hair. It was so soft. And real. Much more real than his parents. Much more real than the world beyond the gates of the Quad. “Or maybe Pop only went along with the Family Visit to shut up Mom and her priest. But nothing was resolved. Nothing was settled. The next thing I hear will probably be a message from Father Bob telling me that the old man is dead. And that will be that.”

“That’s sad, Brian,” Justin declared.

“I know, but it’s sadder for them than for me,” Brian replied. “After dinner we sat for a while and the two priests talked to my mother while Pop stared at the television and sucked air through a fucking tube attached to a can of oxygen. He’s got lung cancer, so I guess it’s hard for him to breathe. Then when the C.O.’s came to take the priests back outside, I decided to go with them. Barton, one of the C.O.’s assigned to the Administration Building, brought me back up here right before 10:00 headcount. By then it was too late for me to go over to the Hospital Wing and get you.”

“That’s okay, Brian,” Justin said. “We’re both here now. That’s all that matters.”

They lay silently in the bunk for a while. It was almost time for the wake-up call. Justin was glad that Brian was back home. Now things could go back to normal and their routine be uninterrupted.

“Oh, Brian – I went to the Visitors’ Gallery yesterday,” Justin told him. “Ron gave me some papers for you. I took them to the Law Library and filed them so that no one else would see them.”

Brian frowned. “What did Ron give you?”

“Looked like contracts. And proofsheets. There’s a letter with them that explains what you need to do.” Justin sat up in the bunk. “I read it. I hope you don’t mind, Brian.”

“Of course not. This has to do with you, too, Justin. It was all your idea, after all.” Brian took a deep breath. This was the point of no return with his manuscript. Once Brian signed the contracts and sent the corrected pages back to Ron there was no stopping the process.

“It’s going to be so fucking great when it’s published!” Justin said excitedly. “It’s going to change everything, Brian! I know it will!”

“We’ll see,” said Brian without much enthusiasm. But then he remembered something else important. “Justin, tell me again the name of your lawyer. Who was that friend of your father who represented you at your trial?”

Justin’s lip curled in disgust. “You mean Gordon Maxwell? He’s some asshole who belongs to our club, The Arcadian. He plays golf with my dad. Maybe he’s a great golfer, but that didn’t mean he was a great lawyer, too. Because here I am! He did a piss-poor job with my defense.”

“Gordon Maxwell,” Brian repeated almost to himself. “I thought so.”

“What about him?” Justin asked curiously.

“Nothing,” said Brian. “It was something my old man said that reminded me of his name.”

They heard the C.O. begin walking down the tier, calling for the men to get ready for morning headcount.

“We better get up now,” said Brian. “I’m hoping that whatever we have for breakfast will wash the taste of my mother’s hideous casserole out of my mouth!”

“It was that bad, huh?” laughed Justin.

“You have no fucking idea, Sunshine!” Brian grinned back. 

Then he kissed Justin. And then kissed him once more – while he still had the chance.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian makes a call.

Chapter 22

Brian stood in line, waiting his turn to use the payphone on the first tier. 

In his hand Brian clutched a handful of quarters he’d traded two cartons of cigarettes for. This was the only phone working in the East Wing right now and Brian knew that if he didn’t get his call through that morning, then he’d have to chance venturing over to the South Wing and trying to use one of the payphones over there. He’d probably have to bring more swag to pay off whatever gang was running the phone scam in the South, but it would be worth it if he could get this information to Ron.

“I’m waiting to talk to that bastard who’s supposed to be representing me in my appeal,” said Sam, an inmate from the second tier. He was standing directly behind Brian in the line.

“I told you that the Prisoners’ Legal Defense would look into your case, Sam,” Brian reminded the man. “That’s what we’re here for.”

“My old lady is paying that shyster an arm and a leg to defend me, Bri,” Sam griped. “But he ain’t doing shit for me.”

Brian sighed. “Stop by the Law Library tomorrow and I’ll see what I can do about it. Do you have any information about the progress of your appeal?”

Sam shrugged. “I dunno.”

Brian rolled his eyes. Some of these guys didn’t have a fucking clue about the status of their own cases. No wonder they were constantly getting screwed by the legal system.

“Well, bring whatever you have. I’ll try to work up a file for you, okay?”

“Gee, thanks, Bri,” said Sam. “I owe you. You’re a stand-up guy.”

“And Sam, when you come in to see me, try to remember the name of your lawyer. That will help,” said Brian.

“Sure thing,” said Sam, grinning.

The line for the phone crawled at a snail’s pace. Inmates getting calls out was not a big priority with the Administration, so when a phone went down it often took weeks before it was back in working order, leaving the men to depend on whatever phones happened to still be working.

At the payphone the man in possession of the precious instrument was screaming at his girlfriend about a rumor he’d heard that the bitch was cheating on him. The long line and most of the first tier were regaled with the details of ‘that fucking cunt’ and her infidelities. 

This is ridiculous, thought Brian, crossing and uncrossing his arms nervously. But the real problem was that an angry inmate often took his frustrations out on the innocent payphone – which meant another phone out of order until the C.O.’s bothered to call someone in to fix the damn thing.

Finally, after almost two hours, Brian reached the front. He prayed that Ron was in the office as he dialed the number of the Prisoners’ Legal Defense office in Pittsburgh.

“Hello?” said Brian. “Ron Rosenblum, please. This is Brian Kinney calling from Stanton Correctional.”

Then the wait while the secretary connected him. Brian tried to calculate how quickly he’d get through to Ron, or if Ron wasn’t there, to Julie. He had his pile of quarters, but the time always seemed to fly as the minutes ticked off and the quarters were fed into the pay slot. Reversing the charges was forbidden from Stanton, for fear the inmates would make harassing calls from prison.

“Brian!” Ron cried. “I missed you at the Visitors’ Gallery yesterday!”

Brian breathed a sigh of relief to hear Ron’s voice. “Hey, Ron. Sorry about that.”

“Baby, I thought that you were in the trailer with your folks for 48 hours? That’s what the kid told me at the Gallery.”

“I bugged out early,” said Brian. “It’s a long story, but the short version is that my old man has lung cancer. He’s got a couple of months left, tops.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Brian,” said Ron. “Please let me know if there’s anything I can do. Any arrangements that I can make for your parents.”

“Thanks,” said Brian. “I’ll let you know.”

“Did you get the papers for ‘The Project?’” Ron asked. “Have you had a chance to look them over?” 

“Not yet, Ron,” Brian admitted. “But soon. Thanks for sending them. But that’s not why I’m calling. This has something to do with Justin’s case.”

“Did you hear about Stockwell being arrested? Is that what this is about, Bri?”

“Yeah, I heard it on the news. But this might be something else to look into, Ron,” Brian said. “Gordon Maxwell. Check him out.”

“Gordon Maxwell? He’s an attorney here in Pittsburgh,” Ron replied. “Didn’t he handle Justin’s defense?” Brian could hear Ron making notes at his desk.

“If you call what Maxwell did a defense,” Brian snorted. “He’s not a defense lawyer, Ron, and it showed in the way he conducted Justin’s case. But I’m beginning to think there may have been something else going on.”

“Like what?” asked Ron, all attention. He knew that Brian wouldn’t be wasting his time if he didn’t have a feeling that something was amiss. Ron trusted Brian’s instincts in such matters more than he trusted solid facts presented by other people.

“My father is a union man and he spends a lot of time at his union local – drinking, playing cards, and shooting the breeze with his cronies,” said Brian. “Anyway, when I was in that damn trailer a news story came on the television about Stockwell’s arrest and I made a comment about what a fucking sleaze he is. So my old man says, ‘Jim Stockwell is a great guy. I met him last spring when he came to the local trying to drum up support for his mayoral campaign.’”

“And this was when, Bri?” Ron inquired.

“The old man wasn’t sure of the exact date. But it was around the end of March,” Brian stated. “It was just after he’d been diagnosed with lung cancer, but before he’d begun treatment. Jack was thinking that he might need a lawyer because, of course, he didn’t have a will. So he’s talking to one of Stockwell’s flunkies about it and the guy slips him a card and says, ‘This is a good lawyer. Tell him we sent you to him and he’ll give you a good deal.’”

Brian heard Ron take a sharp breath. “Don’t tell me – it wasn’t Gordon Maxwell?”

“It was, Ron. Stockwell’s stooge recommended the lawyer who supposedly defended Justin in a case directly prosecuted by Stockwell himself.”

“That isn’t necessarily against the law, Bri,” said Ron. “However, it suggests some kind of tenuous connection between Stockwell and Maxwell. It’s not big enough to be a payoff, but....”

“It’s something, Ron!” Brian almost shouted. He was down to his last quarter and time was running out. “There’s something there! I know there is! Please pursue this. I’m begging you!”

“I’m going to, Brian,” Ron asserted. “I’ll get Julie working on it right away. She can dig up more skeletons than a graverobber. Don’t worry, Baby. You can count on me.”

“Thanks, Ron,” said Brian, in relief. “If you can pull this off and get Justin out of this place....” Brian’s heart was racing. “I owe you. I owe you everything.”

“You don’t owe me a thing,” said Ron. “Everything I do for you, I do out of love, Baby. Never forget that.”

“I won’t,” said Brian. “I won’t forget it.”

“Good, Baby,” Ron said before hanging up. “That’s all I ask. That you don’t forget.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Incident in the Chow Hall.

Chapter 23

“I can’t believe that you had to stand in that long in the line just to use the stupid phone,” said Justin as he and Brian walked down to the Chow Hall for dinner.

“I wanted to go over some things with Ron about those papers he left with you, so there was no other way except to call him,” Brian said.

“We ought to get a petition together about putting more phones in the East Wing. Maybe a bank of phones on every tier?” Justin suggested. “That way the guys wouldn’t have to stand there for hours waiting to get a call out.”

Brian smiled. “I don’t think the availability of phone service to inmates is high on the priority list of the Board of Prisons. Most people on the outside probably don't think we should have access to the phones at all. I remember when they canceled our ability to reverse the charges a few years ago. A couple of guys were using it to pull scams and some others were harassing people who had testified against them, so the Administration decided to make it harder to make a call, not easier.”

“That’s so unfair, Brian!” Justin stated.

“But it’s the reality of the Quad,” Brian replied. “There’s Juice and Michelle. You want to sit with them?”

Justin shrugged. He liked Ben, but he wasn’t crazy about his bitch, Michelle. Justin knew that Michelle had always had a crush on Brian and she still gazed at him like an infatuated schoolgirl even though she was hooked up with one of the most powerful guys in the Quad. And Michelle had also made it obvious that Justin wasn’t her favorite person in the East Wing.

“Sure,” said Justin as they moved through the food line. It was Friday night, which meant fish. Justin stared at the plate he was handed, trying to figure out what kind of fish it had been before it had been fried to a crisp. Oh, well. It didn’t matter if you put enough ketchup on it.

Justin followed Brian over to the table where the Juice Pig was holding court. A couple of his jocker pals and their punks were already seated there, but Ben had left room for Brian and his kid on his left side, while Michelle sat smugly on his right. 

Michelle was wearing a new purple blouse that her mother had brought for her the day before during Visiting Day. Mrs. Novotny was always bringing Michelle goods – food, comic books, clothes, cassettes – that she could either use herself or trade for other things inside the Quad. Some inmates with no outside connections had to scrounge for the basic necessities of life, but in the East Wing, Michelle was very well-off.

“Ma brought me this shirt just in time for Movie Night tonight,” Michelle bragged. “I love the color, don’t you?”

Justin actually thought the shirt was garish and the color way too bright, but the queens were always ridiculing his fashion sense, so he simply said, “Yeah, it’s nice.”

“You should get your mom to bring you something a little more flashy, Sunny,” said Michelle, eyeing Justin’s plain workshirt. “Your clothes are totally boring.”

Justin made a face. He hated it when Michelle or any of the other queens called him ‘Sunny.’ That was a queen’s name and the last thing Justin wanted to be mistaken for was a queen! “Brian doesn’t care what I wear, but I doubt he would think much of me in a purple peasant blouse!”

“Little bitch!” Michelle snapped back.

“Ladies! Shut the hell up!” ordered Ben. He was sick of the sniping between Michelle and Justin, especially during dinner. “I’m trying to have a conversation with Brian! So if the two of you don’t can it, I’ll send you both over to the queens’ table!” He gestured a few tables away where Emmy, Barbie, and Lou Lou were giggling with some of the other East Wing ladies.

Justin smirked at Michelle and moved closer to Brian, possessively. This was Ben’s table and he had put his woman in her place. It served her right!

But Brian leaned over to Justin. “Don’t flaunt it in front of Michelle, Sunshine. She’s in a bad enough mood as it is.” Everyone in the East Wing knew that Michelle had been turned down for parole and that she wouldn’t get another chance until next spring. “So be good – or I’ll tie your balls in a knot, okay?”

“Okay,” Justin murmured. “Sorry, Brian.”

“Why don’t you get me another cup of coffee?” Brian said, patting Justin’s shoulder. “With plenty of sugar.”

“Sure!” said Justin, jumping up from the table. That was a punk’s job – getting stuff for his jock. He picked up Brian’s empty cup and hustled over to the line for the coffee.

Justin stood quietly in line, holding Brian’s cup and wondering what movie they would see tonight. It was always a surprise, but usually they alternated a comedy with a drama or an action flick. The week before they had shown an old war picture, so Justin was hoping for something funny or romantic this week. 

Justin noticed that the guy in front of him in the coffee line was twitching and glancing around. That put Justin on alert. The man was a South Winger, an Hispanic inmate, maybe one of the Mexican gangbangers. But something wasn’t right about him. Justin could sense it. 

Justin was about to step away from the twitcher when another Hispanic inmate moved past Justin and whipped out his arm. Justin saw the sharpened pencil in the second ganger’s hand and then he saw it go deep into the first inmate’s neck only inches from Justin’s face.

Justin dove for the floor and rolled in the opposite direction, but he felt a spray of blood descend on him. He heard the screams of the first inmate as he went down. Then the chaos of noise and confusion as the men scattered and the C.O.’s converged on the Chow Hall, their batons and guns drawn.

Ben turned just as the gangbanger attacked the inmate in line. He yelled out for Brian, who was on his feet in a second. Brian flew across the room, searching for Justin in the tumult.

Brian saw Justin lying on the floor, peppered with blood. He threw himself on top of the boy. All around them the C.O.’s were struggling to subdue two factions of the South Wing Mexican gang that had chosen the Chow Hall to fight out their turf battle.

“I’m all right!” Justin cried as Brian wrapped himself around his kid’s body and inched him away from the skirmish. “I’m not hurt!”

Brian dragged Justin under the nearest table and shielded their refuge with an overturned chair. “Don’t say anything!” Brian whispered urgently. “Keep your head against me!”

They huddled under the table as the C.O.’s rounded up inmates, shooting pepper spray at anyone who moved. Finally, the guards had cleared the gang members and they called for the rest of the inmates, most of whom were face-down on the floor, to stand up, one by one, and be searched.

Brian held Justin down and waited until most of the other men had been moved out of the Chow Hall. Then he pulled Justin out from under the table and they both stood slowly, their hands in the air.

“Is the kid injured?” asked one of the C.O.’s. He recognized Brian and Justin as a jocker and his punk from the third tier of the East Wing and therefore unlikely to have been involved in the altercation between the Mexicans. But the punk had blood all over him. He was a witness to what had gone down in the hall and they would need to take his statement.

“No, sir,” said Justin, shakily. “I was only standing there! I was getting a cup of coffee!”

“Did you see what happened?” the C.O. demanded.

Justin gulped. “It happened so fast. I... I wasn’t paying much attention. And then... then....” Justin looked down at the blood on his hands. It was on his face, too. He glanced over at the middle of the Chow Hall. A figure was lying there, covered by a gray sheet, his sneakered feet sticking out at the bottom. “Is he... is he dead? That guy from the line?”

“We’ll need to take your statement, kid,” said the C.O., sharply. He grabbed Justin by the elbow.

“I’m going with him,” Brian asserted firmly. “I’m his cellmate and I’m also the PLD representative. He’s not making any statements unless I’m there!”

“Then come along,” the C.O. grunted. “You’re both witnesses to this thing.” The C.O. hurried the pair out of the Chow Hall, but not before Justin turned and watched two of the orderlies from the Hospital load the dead gangbanger onto a stretcher and carry him out.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Justin whispered dizzily. He slumped against Brian, who caught him in his arms. 

And that was the last thing Justin remembered.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath.

Chapter 24

 

Officer Tully unlocked the door of Brian and Justin’s cell and the two men walked inside.

“The entire Quad is in lockdown until further notice,” the C.O. said sternly. “The warden may want to question you both again tomorrow.”

“We’ve told him everything that we know,” said Brian, defiantly. “That isn’t going to change between now and tomorrow!”

“We’ll see about that, Kinney,” the C.O. retorted. “It’s already after lights out, so get to bed.”

Brian saluted the guard sarcastically. “Yes, sir, Officer Tully, sir!”

The C.O. glared at Brian. “Don’t push things, Kinney. You want us to send the kid over to the South Wing? Or send you down to the Hole to cool off?”

Brian wanted to tell Tully to go fuck himself, but he didn’t. Brian was furious because the guards had dragged both of them away and questioned them as if they had been part of the brawl and not innocent bystanders. But in the eyes of the C.O.’s there was no such thing as an innocent bystander in prison. You were in Stanton because you were guilty – and that made you guilty of everything.

So instead of speaking his mind, Brian turned away from the cell door. He buried his anger and his resentment. It would do no good to lash out at Tully or any of the other C.O.’s on the third tier. They hadn’t been responsible for questioning him and Justin. It was the whole system that was fucked up. The prison system and everything connected with it.

Justin was hunched over at the sink, washing his face. They hadn’t even allowed the kid to clean the dead inmate’s blood off of himself before Lt. Clayton and his goons started hammering away at him. They had handcuffed both Brian and Justin and worked on each of them, one at a time, trying to get to the bottom of the rumble in the Chow Hall. But mainly they honed in on Justin. He’d had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time and they made the boy pay for his bad luck.

Luckily, Justin was simply telling the truth when he told them that he didn’t know anything, not even the names of the men involved. The brawlers were all South Wingers and all Mexican gang members. There was no reason that Justin would know them. Brian didn’t even know them, except by sight, because they never used PLD services. They had their own network of Spanish-speaking lawyers from their own community. Ron had tried for years to break through to the Hispanic inmates, but he’d never gotten anywhere with them. There was no way that they were going to trust a gringo, not even one who was offering them free legal aid.

Justin’s hands were shaking as he scrubbed his face. All he could think of was Brian’s blood. On his hands. On his face. On his hair. Drenching his clothes. Soaking down to his very skin. He had thought then that it would never come off. That he would never be clean again. That the blood that saturated him would never go away.

“Let me do that,” said Brian softly. He took the rough washcloth from Justin’s hand and soaped it up. Then he washed the kid carefully and quietly. And Justin stood there like a stunned child.

“Brian!” he sobbed out, clutching the edge of the sink.

“It’s all right,” whispered Brian. “I’m right here. We’re both okay.”

Brian stripped off Justin’s soiled clothes and tossed them into a pile in the corner. He’d have them taken away or else get Emmy to wash them. He didn’t want Justin to touch the fucking things again until they were clean. He didn’t want Justin to be reminded of blood and death and fear. But Brian also knew there was no real way to escape those things in the Quad. Blood and death and fear walked next to you every single day.

Brian washed Justin’s body slowly. The cell was dark, but Brian could find the spots of blood by touch and by smell and he rubbed those places until they were clean. Then he washed Justin’s hair and untangled it with his old tortoiseshell comb.

“Come on,” said Brian, leading him to the bunk. “Get in bed. There won’t be any breakfast in the Chow Hall tomorrow. Probably no lunch or dinner, either. A good excuse to do nothing all day, right?”

Justin nodded. “Right.” The worn sheets felt cool against his hot skin. 

Justin rubbed his wrists where they had handcuffed him. He hated being handcuffed or shackled. That was when he most felt like a criminal. And when he was being questioned like a criminal for something he didn’t do.

“They kept asking me and asking me, Brian,” Justin murmured. “But I couldn’t tell them anything!”

“You don’t know anything and you didn’t see anything, Justin,” said Brian, grimly. “Deaf, dumb, and blind makes the perfect inmate. That’s what Ron always used to say and it’s still true.”

Brian stripped off his own clothes and climbed into the bunk next to Justin. The boy was trembling violently as Brian put his arms around him.

“It wasn’t me who was offed,” Brian reassured him. “And it wasn’t you, either. That’s all that matters in this joint, kid. That WE survived. Some other poor bastard didn’t. That’s his problem. Staying alive is our problem. But we’re going to do it. Do you believe me, Justin?”

“Yes,” said Justin is a helpless voice. “But the man was standing there. Just standing there! And then....” Justin squeezed his eyes shut.

“And then he was dead,” said Brian, bluntly. “It happens. But we’re here. This is now. If you’re afraid, then hold on to me. Hang on as tightly as you can. That’s all we can do.”

Brian pushed the boy back onto the bunk and moved on top of him. This was no time to be tender and delicate. This was about life and death. About how life had won – at least for them.

Brian ravaged Justin’s lips with his tongue and his teeth, catching each ragged breath with his own mouth until Justin began kissing back just as urgently. Justin pressed up against Brian’s shoulder, sucking at his salty skin, biting at his neck, tugging at his hair. 

Brian shoved a couple of lotion-covered fingers into Justin’s ass. He wanted to be rough. He wanted both of them to feel the violence that was part of their life and also their love. He spread his punk’s legs obscenely, positioning himself. 

Justin’s legs splayed across the narrow bunk and he arched his hips upward. “Fuck me good!” the kid demanded. “Fuck my ass into the mattress! I need you to!”

“I’m going to fuck you into next week,” Brian breathed. 

“Please!” Justin gasped as Brian drove his long cock deep inside of him. His tight hole clenched around it. Justin pushed against the intrusion and also welcomed it. Then he relaxed slowly and felt Brian’s cock slide deeper and deeper into him. Filling him. Possessing him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Brian chanted as he rattled the bunk with his thrusts.

“Make me forget,” Justin whispered. “Make me forget everything except your dick and my ass. Nothing else matters! Make me believe it! Please, Brian! Please!”

And there wasn’t anything else the two of them could believe in that darkness. There, nothing else was real. Just bodies. Just movements. Just love, against all odds.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin is afraid.

Chapter 25

The minute they came out of lockdown Brian noticed the change in Justin.

All weekend the men had remained in their cells while Warden Horvath and the C.O.’s investigated the incident in the Chow Hall. Justin and Brian had been brought to the warden’s office where they had been questioned again, this time by Horvath himself. But it was evident that Horvath didn’t believe either man was privy to anything more than having been in the Chow Hall when the shit came down on the Mexican gangbanger, so he sent them back to their cell.

The pair spent the rest of the weekend in bed, reading, eating box meals that the C.O.’s distributed to the cells, listening to the Oldies Station on the radio, and making love. 

But Justin kept waking up in the middle of the night, once again plagued by the nightmares that had haunted him after he’d been raped by the low-riders. That was Brian’s first clue that something was seriously wrong with his young lover.

“I’m not going to class,” Justin declared on Monday morning. He had already refused to go down to breakfast at the Chow Hall, but Brian didn’t blame him for that. Even Brian wasn’t anxious to enter the place where they had watched a man killed so violently and pointlessly only days before.

“What do you mean?” Brian asked. “Is there something the matter with your class?”

“No,” said Justin as he buttoned up his blue workshirt. “I’m just not going.” Justin swallowed. His mouth was dry. “I’m going to the Law Library with you. Is that okay?”

Brian hesitated. Justin was classified as a student so he was supposed to be attending classes. But he could read his school books and study in the Law Library. After what the kid had been through Brian didn’t think that anyone would press Justin too hard to go to class.

As they walked over to the Law Library in the North Wing, Brian was glad that Justin was with him. He put his arm around the boy and was surprised to feel that he was trembling slightly. Brian knew that it would take Justin a little time to get over the shock of the Chow Hall, but he had bounced back so forcefully from being raped and then from Brian’s brush with death. Justin was resilient. Justin was cocky. Justin was dauntless. Brian squeezed Justin’s shoulder encouragingly.

“I love you, Brian,” the boy whispered. And then tears started to spill down his smooth cheeks.

Brian was stunned. He hurried his kid into the Law Library and shut the door. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped away Justin’s tears. 

It wasn’t like Justin to start crying out of the blue, especially outside of the safety of their cell. After all, the first rule that Brian had drilled into him was never to let anyone see you cry. Never reveal your weakness. Keep control of yourself at all times.

But here was Justin weeping. Weeping for no reason that Brian could understand.

He sat the boy down in Brian’s old chair at the little table in the corner of the office and gave him a pile of mail to open. Justin sat quietly and opened it, sniffling softly. After he finished with the mail, Brian put Justin to work sorting out forms and then pulling inmate files. That took up most of the morning.

“Hi, ho!” said Emmy, tapping on the door of the Law Library. “I stopped by to see if you handsome gentlemen wanted to get a bite of luncheon with me? I know a fabulous new place where they have a divine creamed chipped beef on toast with soggy green beans on the side! So how about it, hot stuff?” Em gave Justin a little nudge.

But Justin wasn’t smiling. “I’m not hungry, Em,” he mumbled. Then he stood up and when back into the row of filing cabinets, hiding his tears.

Brian motioned Emmett out of the office. “Justin is still freaked out by what happened last week, Em,” Brian explained. “He seemed better over the weekend, but this morning he got all shaky again. He wouldn’t go to breakfast and he refused to go to his Civics class. I don’t think he can handle lunch right now.”

“Well, Bri Baby, he’s going to have to eat! And that means the boy is going to need to go to the Chow Hall eventually. They don’t have take-out service up to the tiers in Stanton Correctional, honey!”

“I know,” said Brian. “I think he just needs a little time.” Brian gave Em his most persuasive smile. “Maybe you could bring him a tray with a little bit of lunch on it? You have connections with the guys in the kitchen, Em, and they all love Justin over there. They’ll do it. What do you say?”

Em flashed his gap-toothed grin. “When you put it that way, how could I say ‘no,’ Bri?”

Brian leaned over and gave Em a quick kiss. “Thanks, Emmett. You’re an upfront guy.”

Emmy sniffed. “I’d rather be a gracious Southern lady, Bri Baby, but I’ll take what I can get!”

For the next few days Justin stuck to Brian like a shadow, following him to the Law Library, to the Yard, and to the Gym. The only place he still balked at going into, even with his jocker, was the Chow Hall. So Emmy, Lou Lou, Jackie, and the other queens took turns bringing food up from the kitchen to the cell or to the Law Library for both Justin and Brian, since Brian couldn’t leave the kid alone without him going completely to pieces.

“I’m really worried about Justin,” Em confided in Dr. Caputo one evening when they were both on the late shift at the Hospital. “It’s like a delayed reaction from everything that’s happened to him since he came into the Quad. He wasn’t this bad after the low-riders, Doc. Why now? He wasn’t hurt in the Chow Hall, and Brian wasn’t hurt, either. So why would he suddenly turn into a scared little rabbit? That’s not the Justin we all know and love.”

Dr. Caputo sat back in his chair. Actually, he had seen it before. He’d been a military doctor before he had come to Stanton and he’d seen similar cases in V.A. hospitals where he’d served. Some of the men were casualties of Vietnam, but others were still suffering from traumas endured in Korea or even World War II.

“That’s exactly what it is, Emmett,” said the doctor. “A delayed reaction. Justin buried what happened to him with the bikers because he needed to survive and putting that horror behind him was the only way. And he also had Brian, who had survived something similar, to help him get through it all. Then when Brian was injured the kid totally shut down. You remember how he was like a sleepwalker? Hearing his cellmate’s voice in his head and thinking they were communicating?”

“I thought the poor boy had lost his mind, Doc!” Em admitted.

“He had, in a way,” Dr. Caputo replied. “It was his way of coping. Another way of surviving something he couldn’t deal with any other way. Then Brian was brought back here to Stanton. Justin focused all of his energy on getting Brian well. He buried his own fears so that he could show a brave face to his lover.”

“Then why would he freak out now, Doc?” asked Em. “Brian is doing great and other than that little incident with the tattoo, Justin is sailing right along, doing pretty easy time! He didn’t even know the guy that got killed. None of us did. So why should he take the guy’s death so hard?”

Dr. Caputo shook his head knowingly. “It has nothing to do with the gang member who was killed. Something has snapped inside that boy. Now that he’s relatively safe and he’s hooked up with a strong man who takes good care of him, he can allow himself to feel all of the horror he’s been suppressing. Is he having nightmares?”

Em nodded. “Brian says he has them every night. And he jumps at every loud noise. He won’t even leave his cell to walk down to the Rec Room unless his man is holding his hand, Doc! That’s not normal.”

“I know it isn’t, Em,” the doctor conceded. “I wish we had a psychologist here who knew a little bit about Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome, but unfortunately we don’t.”

“Post WHAT?” said Emmy.

“Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome. That’s what the V.A. doctors call it,” said Dr. Caputo. “But it applies to anyone who has lived through something dreadful that they’ve suppressed – until they can’t keep it inside any longer. Like soldiers. Accident victims. Women – or men – who’ve been raped. People who’ve witnessed something horrific, like a murder. That’s Justin.”

“Sounds like a lot of people in here, Doc,” Em commented.

“Yes, that’s true,” the doctor replied. “But many of the men here are hardened to such sights. Their emotions are numbed. Others are sociopaths who literally don’t feel or react to such events. But Justin is young and he’s lived a sheltered, privileged life. Nothing in his experience could have prepared him for what he’s endured here.”

Emmett frowned. “That sounds like Brian, too. He’s survived a lot worse than Justin and for a lot longer, but you don’t see him going all to pieces like my Great-Aunt Lula on a hot day!”

“We don’t see it, Em,” said Dr. Caputo. “But that doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened.” 

The doctor thought about Brian’s thick medical file. He had read through it extensively while Brian had been his patient after his transfer from County General Hospital. His file detailed a number of incidents that might have been triggered by a delayed reaction to what he’d suffered in prison, including more than one suicide attempt, the most recent only a few years before.

“Both Brian and Justin are like accidents waiting to happen, Emmett,” Dr. Caputo stated. He stood up and stretched. It was time to make the night rounds of the wards.

“That sounds so... so ominous!” Emmy said, shivering.

“It is,” answered the doctor, sadly. “It is. Let’s just hope that accident doesn’t happen on our watch.”

And then Emmy felt more than concerned for Brian and Justin – she felt afraid for them.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jennifer considers her options.

Chapter 26

 

October 1978

 

“We’ve had an offer on the house,” said Craig.

“Oh,” said Jennifer. “That’s good... I guess.” 

The pair were sitting on the sofa in Craig’s new apartment. Jennifer knew that Craig’s new girlfriend was lurking in the bedroom, but she hadn’t come out to meet her boyfriend’s soon-to-be-ex-wife.

“The people want to take possession as soon as possible, so you’ll need to be out of there before the end of the month,” said Craig, bluntly.

He’s really being an asshole about this, thought Jennifer. We both want this divorce, but he doesn’t have to act like it’s all my fault. 

Jennifer had been feeling guilty about their break-up until Ron showed her reports from his private detective that showed that Craig had been having an affair with his secretary for at least two years. So there had been no reason for Craig to act high-and-mighty when he found out that Jennifer was also having an affair of her own!

And Craig was still being impossible about Justin. His son, who had once been Craig Taylor’s pride and joy, was now a subject that was off-limits to discussion. Craig didn’t want to hear about the progress of Justin’s appeal or about what was happening to Justin in prison. All Craig needed to know was that his son had shamed the Taylors by being convicted of a crime – and also revealed himself as a homosexual. That was enough to make him completely turn his back on Justin.

“I’ve found a condo that’s not far from Molly’s school,” said Jennifer. “I’d like to take some of our furniture for the living room and the bedrooms, but I thought we could put the rest into storage and decide how to divide it up later. Is that fine with you, Craig?”

“Sure,” he said, shrugging. “I’m not really interested in a bunch of old furniture, Jen. You can do whatever you want with it.”

“All right then,” she replied, making a note on her pad. Ron had told Jennifer to get any agreements they made in writing in case Craig changed his mind later and made a stink about something. “I don’t want to make any assumptions about what to do with... with our things.”

“It’s only stuff, Jen,” said Craig, dismissively. “I bought new furniture when I moved in here.”

Jennifer looked around Craig’s apartment. The furniture was modern, but it looked cheap and insubstantial. She assumed that the new girlfriend had helped Craig pick it out, probably at Sears or Penney’s or someplace like that. Jennifer thought about the antiques and family heirlooms what would now go into storage. She had been so proud of her home – and this is what it had come to!

“Listen, Craig, there’s something else that I want to discuss with you,” said Jennifer, hesitantly. “Once everything is finalized I was thinking of moving out of town. Maybe to Chicago. Justin will be eligible for parole in the spring and... and his lawyers at the Prisoners’ Legal Defense think that he’ll definitely get out then, if not before.”

Jennifer waited for Craig’s reaction, but there was none. He only stared at her, as if the name ‘Justin’ meant nothing to him. 

“Molly could finish out the school year here,” Jennifer continued. “And then we could move to Chicago over the summer and have a chance to settle before the new school year begins.”

“Chicago, huh?” Craig’s face was dark. “What the hell is in Chicago?”

“I have some family there, Craig,” said Jennifer, taking a deep breath. “And it would be a chance for Justin to make a new beginning. Ro... Julie at the Prisoners’ Legal Defense thinks the Parole Board will allow it, especially if Justin is able to enroll in college there. And... and I might have a lead on a job, too.”

Ron had promised Jennifer that he’d use his extensive connections to get Jennifer a job in Chicago. And then, after his own divorce was final, Ron would move there so that they could be together. That was the plan. Ron had outlined it. Ron had convinced her that it would be the best thing for all of them. It would be a fresh start for Justin, but also for Jennifer and Ron, too. All the bad memories of Pittsburgh and Jennifer’s failed marriage and Justin’s conviction could be forgotten in a new city. And she could make new friends who weren’t constantly judging her on her failures as a wife and a mother.

“You’re telling me that you want to move out of town so that Justin can go to college? That’s assuming that he even gets out of jail, Jen. Assuming some college will take a convict who is also a homosexual!” Craig snapped.

“That’s not fair, Craig!” Jennifer cried. “Justin deserves a chance, the same as any other boy who made a mistake!”

“So you say, Jen,” Craig huffed. “But if you and... and YOUR son leave this town and go to Chicago, you aren’t taking MY daughter with you! You may have custody of Molly now, but that doesn’t mean that you can take her out of state. Forget it! I won’t let you drag my daughter hundreds of miles away so that she can live with you and... and your queer son!”

Jennifer felt her face turning red. “Justin is your son, too, Craig. His conviction hasn’t changed that fact. And neither has his sexuality! You may turn your back on him, but that doesn’t mean I’ll do the same! And Molly still loves her brother!”

“That’s because she’s too young to understand what a pervert is!” Craig spat back. “And I’m going to make certain that she never finds out! If I have to go back to court to get custody of Molly, then I’ll do it! I’ll prove that you’re an unfit mother! It must have been something that YOU did to turn MY son into a faggot! And I don’t want the same thing to happen to Molly!”

Craig stood up and waited for Jennifer to stand. Then he marched her to the door. Jennifer saw the door of the bedroom open and Craig’s girlfriend peek out of it, watching the show.

“If you want to make this nasty, Craig, then it will be nasty!” said Jennifer. “But don’t threaten me! You aren’t as pure as the driven snow, Craig Taylor. And don’t you dare call me an unfit mother! The way you’ve rejected your own son is cruel and despicable. Nothing I did made Justin gay! He was born that way, so face facts! I won’t give up on him. And I won’t allow you to poison Molly against her brother, either. We’ll see who is unfit to be a parent!”

Jennifer left the apartment and stumbled to the elevator. She needed to call Ron immediately and tell him what Craig had said. Ron wouldn’t let Craig take her daughter away! He would protect her! Ron was the only one who understood.

Jennifer got into her car and tried to collect herself. She had to focus her thoughts. Focus her strength. Justin would be released and they would go to Chicago! And Ron would help her make it happen.

She had to get herself and her children out of Pittsburgh! It was the only way they all could finally and truly be free.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy Carver wants to be certain.

Chapter 27

 

Amy Carver was writing the evening’s assignment on the blackboard as the boys filed into her Creative Writing classroom.

Stormy and Zack walked in together. Amy had noticed that the two of them seemed very tight recently. Zack had always idolized Stormy. Stormy was a bigger, stronger punk with a dominant personality, while Zack was a natural follower. Zack wasn’t a very good writer – like a lot of the boys he couldn’t spell or punctuate a sentence to save his life – but Amy had noticed that most of Zack’s stories featured as the hero a big, confident boy and his smaller, admiring sidekick.

Stormy stamped his cigarette out on the dirty linoleum floor and sat in his usual desk, with Zack next to him. Then came two newer boys from the South Wing, Mac and Jay. Then an older inmate, Red, and a younger man who was always with him, Benny. Amy wasn’t certain if Red and Benny were friends or hooked up. Benny was much older than the usual punk, but one thing Amy Carver had learned while teaching in Stanton was not to make blanket assumptions.

Then there was another new student, Antwan. He was her only black student and from reading his pieces, which weren’t stories so much as political statements, Amy knew that Antwan was the protégé of Baraka, the leader of the Bros, the black inmates in the South Wing. Baraka and his men considered themselves not to be inmates at all, but political prisoners. Antwan, as usual, sat by himself near the back of the classroom.

Wesley and Jackie came into the room last. Wesley was working on a long science fiction story that Amy found incomprehensible, but Wesley seemed excited about it and writing it had certainly motivated him to take other classes, mainly in science. That made Amy very pleased. She felt that Wes was one of the few boys she had worked with who might have a chance to break out of the cycle of crime and imprisonment that already seemed the fate of so many of her other students.

Wesley and Jackie sat in the front row. Jackie’s hair looked longer than ever and he was wearing bracelets on both wrists. He always flirted with the other boys in the class, but today he was batting his eyes at the two older men, Red and Benny. Amy had heard the boys talking the week before about Jackie’s protector, Rick, getting out of prison soon, and it was apparent that Jackie was searching around for a likely replacement.

Amy waited a few more minutes, but there was no sign of Justin.

“Is Justin not feeling well again this week?” Amy asked Wesley. She knew that their cells were close together.

“No, Miss Carver,” said Wes. “He’s coming. Really. They were walking over right behind us.”

“They?” Amy questioned.

“Him and Brian,” added Jackie in her breathy voice. “Justin never goes anywhere without Brian. Not since....” Jackie shrugged. “You know... what happened inside.”

Amy knew that there had been a stabbing in Stanton, but she didn’t know the details. She only knew that Justin had seen the attack and been very upset by it. So upset that he hadn’t been attending any of his classes, including her Creative Writing class. That worried Amy. Justin was an excellent student and he’d already been through so much during his months in prison. Amy hated to think that the intelligent and talented Justin was becoming so fearful or depressed that he had given up on his education.

And then there was Brian. Amy found herself excited by the prospect of catching a glimpse of her elusive author. Most of the contact anyone outside Stanton had with him was on paper or through Justin. Her friend, Will Foxe, who taught writing at Carnegie Mellon, was dying to meet him, but so far Brian had refused to come down to the Visitors’ Gallery to see anyone except his former cellmate, Ron Rosenblum.

Mr. Rosenblum had been invaluable in getting Brian’s manuscript to the point where it was almost ready to be published. He had gotten release forms and proofsheets and other important material to Brian inside the Quad, and then managed to get them out again without the prison authorities finding out. 

Amy understood that smuggling out the Kinney manuscript and publishing it without notifying Warden Horvath or the Board of Prisons would probably get her banned from teaching there, but Amy believed it was worth it in the long run, especially if it caused an innocent man to be released.

Ron Rosenblum was also handling all of the negotiations with the editors in New York, and had even obtained a literary agent to approach the bigger publishers about a book deal. Amy was certain that would happen. Brian’s memoir was well-written and told a compelling, if horrific story. The people at the publishing houses were only waiting to see the reaction of the public to the excepts that ‘The New Yorker’ was planning to run around Christmas. That wasn’t very far off. Less than two months. Then Amy was sure that things would change radically for the fortunes of Brian Kinney.

She looked up and there was Brian at the door of her classroom. He had his arm around Justin, who looked pale and thinner than the last time she had seen him only a few weeks before. The boy’s bright blue eyes darted around the room, as if something threatening lurked there.

“Please take your seat, Justin,” Amy instructed. “And we’ll begin our class.”

“I... I didn’t finish my story, Miss Carver,” Justin said, his voice barely a whisper.

“That’s quite all right,” said Amy, soothingly. “Maybe you can read it to us next week.”

Amy was speaking to her young student, but she couldn’t take her eyes off his tall cellmate. She was picturing Brian dressed in a good suit, his hair styled at a top salon. He would be as handsome as a movie star with some decent clothes and a little care. All of the literary lions in New York would jockey to invite him to their parties, and he’d be in huge demand to read and give seminars on crime and life in prison.

And television! All of the talk shows would want to book him for their shows. If Brian Kinney could talk only half as well as he wrote, then he would be a riveting speaker. And being on TV would sell books. A lot of books! And Amy had discovered him! She could hardly believe it.

Of course, some of the things in his book would be difficult to discuss on the air. Homosexuality and male rape and sexual slavery – those weren’t the usual topics discussed on ‘Johnny Carson.’ But some of the more serious shows might be brave enough to tackle those subjects. And Brian would find a large audience on college campuses, too. Maybe one day she’d teach a course and use Brian’s book as the text. Or he might even teach such a course himself! The possibilities were mind-boggling.

“Brian,” whispered Justin, still lingering in the doorway. “Don’t leave me alone here!”

“You’re not alone, Justin,” said Brian, gently. “Your teacher is here. And Wes and Jackie. And the guys are all your pals. Stormy and Zack are your friends. You know Red and Benny from the first tier, right? And you’ve talked to Antwan before when Baraka came to the Law Library to see me. So there’s nothing to be worried about, Justin. Nothing at all.”

Justin hesitated. He took a step forward, but then looked like he was going to bolt in the opposite direction.

“Come right in, Justin,” Amy said encouragingly. “And we’ll begin.”

“Stay with me!” Justin begged Brian, clutching at his arm.

“I’ll be right outside the door,” said Brian. “All you have to do is call me.”

“No!” Justin was almost crying. 

Now Amy was alarmed. She had never seen Justin act like this before. He was barely holding himself together while the other boys in the class sat passively, watching. However, the other students didn’t act like this was strange behavior at all. Since the stabbing incident, Justin had missed a number of classes for vague reasons. Maybe Justin had been like this ever since the stabbing, suffering from some kind of shock or anxiety that made him clingy and very unlike his normal self.

“Brian, why don’t you take a seat next to Justin over here?” Amy suggested. She was afraid that she would never get Justin into his seat unless Brian sat beside him.

Brian nodded and led Justin to one of the little desks, settling him into it and then taking the seat next to him. But the older man never let go of the boy’s trembling hand.

Amy sighed and began class by asking Jackie to read her assignment aloud. She listened to Jackie’s piece, but her eyes were on Justin – and Brian. On Justin’s fearful, haunted face. And Brian’s obvious distress and concern for the boy.

She would need to talk to someone about this. But who? The prison authorities must know that something was the matter, but maybe there was nothing they could do for Justin. Maybe this was beyond their resources.

But one person might know. The lawyer. Brian Kinney’s ex-cellmate. He had been inside Stanton. He knew the way the system worked and he knew the problems of the inmates. And he would know whether or not anything could be done for Justin Taylor.

Amy Carver resolved that the minute she got home tonight she would call Ron Rosenblum and ask for his help.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian wants to fix things.

Chapter 28

 

Brian was lying in his bunk on Saturday morning, looking over some papers, while Justin was sitting on the floor, working on a new drawing.

“Hey, fellas? Can I talk to you guys for a minute?”

Justin tensed. He did that whenever anyone came to the door of the cell, even someone he knew well, like Al from next door.

Brian got up and went to the door, while Justin stared at the figure looming there.

“What’s up, Al?” said Brian through the bars. He only opened the door of the cell and let anyone in when it was absolutely necessary. Otherwise, Justin got too upset. He began feeling claustrophobic and anxious, as if the intruder were sucking all the air out of the room.

“It’s Wes,” said Al. The man looked worried. He licked his dry lips. “There’s something wrong with him and he won’t tell me what it is.”

Justin heard Al’s words and immediately stood up and went to the door. “What’s the matter with Wesley?” Justin asked. “Is he sick?”

Al shook his head. “I don’t think so. He got a letter this morning from Indiana. I think it was from his mom. There was something in that letter that’s got him all turned around. He’s in his bunk, crying and stuff. And that ain’t like Wes. He’s kind of soft, but he ain’t a crier unless he gets his ass kicked or... or unless it’s real serious.” Al frowned. “Like when you got shanked, Bri. Wes took that hard and he cried over it, but so did lots of the punks and queens. But it ain’t like Wes to start bawling over something in a goddamn letter.”

“Can I talk to him?” Justin offered.

Brian was surprised at that. Justin rarely volunteered to leave their cell these days, especially not in order to enter someone else’s – not even that of a good pal like Wesley.

“Sure,” said Al. “Maybe you can figure out what’s going on. Because he won’t say nothing to me!” Al looked hurt. “I’m his jock, but it’s like he don’t trust me!”

“Maybe this is something very personal,” said Brian. “Or something he’s embarrassed to talk about to you.”

“Maybe,” grunted Al. 

Brian could see that Al was truly concerned about the kid. Al liked to put up the facade of a tough guy, but Brian believed that he had true feelings for his punk. Yes, he cuffed Wes around a lot and yelled at him constantly, but Al also was capable of treating Wesley very tenderly. And Al was extremely jealous of attention any other jocks paid to his personal property – his very own kid.

“Let me go in and see him,” said Justin. “Please? And – can Brian come with me?”

Al hesitated, but then he shrugged. “I guess so.” Al knew that Bri Baby was safe around Wes. He wouldn’t try any funny stuff with him like another jock might.

Brian unlocked the door and he and Justin walked over to the next cell. Al let the pair in and locked the door behind them. Then he went down to the Gym to blow off some steam.

Wesley was in the upper bunk, his face buried in the pillow. He looked up when he heard the cell door open.

“Hey, Wesley,” said Justin. “It’s only me. And Brian, too.”

Wesley wiped his eyes and nose on the sleeve of his workshirt. “Hey,” he said weakly.

“Tell me,” whispered Justin. “Did you get bad news from home?”

Wesley nodded slowly. And the tears began to course down his cheeks. “It’s Ma. She’s in the hospital. My aunt wrote this letter telling me.” He gave the letter, which was wrinkled and damp with tears, to Justin. “She’s real sick, Justin. My aunt says that she was asking for me. What am I going to do? What if she croaks or something?”

Justin climbed up into the upper bunk next to Wesley and held him. “I’m sure nothing bad will happen to her, Wesley. They take good care of people in the hospital. Look how they fixed up Brian. Good as new! Right, Brian?”

Brian took a deep breath. “Right, Justin. Look at me.”

Brian was quietly scanning the letter that Justin had handed to him. It looked like Mrs. Richmond was in bad shape. She had a heart condition, among other health problems, including being diabetic. The aunt sounded pretty gloomy about Wesley’s mother’s prognosis, but that could be female hysteria.

However, if Wesley’s mother really were seriously ill, that might be grounds to get the kid a quick early parole. After all, Wesley was a model inmate, he was taking classes to get his High School Equivalency diploma, and his main crimes had been committed as an accessory to his cousin, who was doing harder time in a maximum joint. 

Brian began putting together a proposal in his head. He’d have to get Father Bob in on it. And maybe Dr. Caputo, too, to explain to Warden Horvath just how serious the mother’s ailments were. Anything to get this poor kid out. If Brian could get him out and back to Indiana in time.

Wesley shouldn’t be in here in the first place, thought Brian. Like Justin. Wesley’s main crime was being neglected. He had a deadbeat father, an ill mother, and a brother and then a cousin who both led the boy into serious trouble with the law. Then he got nothing but abuse once he was locked away. Al wasn’t a bad guy, but he was a full-grown jocker taking advantage of a basically straight kid who still cried out in pain every time the man fucked him. 

Justin had also told Brian that some of the other punks were ganging up on Wesley whenever they got the opportunity and using him to relieve their frustrations. Justin refused to squeal by naming names, but Brian could guess without too much difficulty who those punks were. It was dog-eat-dog in the Quad, where the strong preyed on the weak. And chubby little Wes was as weak as they came.

Brian turned away as he listened to the boy weeping for his mother, while Justin cried along with him. He thought of the terrible trailer visit and his own mother, so grim-faced and cold. Mom, who wouldn’t touch him or hold him. Who had rarely ever touched or held him, even when he was a child. And Pop, sitting in front of the TV, gasping for breath through a tube. His old man, who would certainly be dead very, very soon.

What was the fucking point of it all? Brian pressed the palms of his hands over his eyes as if to push the pain out of his aching head. What was the purpose of all these wasted lives? What good did it do to yell or protest? Brian had once been idealistic. He had thought that he could do something to change the world. He had thought that he could love someone freely and without fear. And so he ended up in the Quad, living like an animal and being treated like a slave.

Brian thought about his manuscript. Would people even believe the stories that he related in it? Sometimes even he couldn’t believe them – and he had lived them. And if those people read his stories and did believe, would they do anything to change conditions? Or would they turn away? Who gave a shit, after all, about some criminal, even if he was only a pathetic punk kid?

But Brian listened to Justin, soothing Wesley. Wiping the boy’s tears and stroking his hair. The way Brian did to Justin went he woke up shaking in the middle of the night, tormented by dreams that he couldn’t even relate.

And the way that Ron had held Brian when he was in despair and only wanted to die. The way Ron had told Brian that he needed to live. That one day he would make a difference in the world, even if it was only by helping one other person.

Yes, Ron can be a shit much of the time, thought Brian, but without him I would have been dead many times over. And if I’d died any of those times, then who would have been here to protect Justin? No one. Brian knew that much. Justin was damaged in ways Brian didn’t even want to think about, but at least he would walk out of the Quad with his body intact and his soul in his own possession. The rest might take years to fix, but it was fixable. The fact that Justin could push aside his own fear in order to comfort Wesley was the proof of that.

But who would fix Brian? 

Brian rubbed his eyes. Soon, soon, soon, he chanted inside his head. That was all the longer he needed to hang on.

Until that moment when Justin walked out of their cell for the last time.

Anything after that didn’t really matter.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy Carver looks for help.

Chapter 29

 

Amy Carver was nervous walking into Papagano’s. It was one of the most exclusive and expensive restaurants in Pittsburgh. On her salary as a writing instructor, Amy could barely afford an appetizer in a place like this, let alone have dinner there.

“I’m meeting someone,” Amy told the hostess. “Mr. Rosenblum.”

“Yes,” said the hostess, checking her list. “Follow me, please.”

Amy noted the atmosphere of the place as they walked through the dining room. The lights were low and many of the tables were set up for couples, who sat with their heads together, sharing bottles of champagne.

Ron Rosenblum stood when he saw Amy. He took her hand and shook it warmly. “Miss Carver. I’m so glad that you could join me.”

The hostess pulled out the chair and Amy sat down. 

“I’ve taken the liberty of ordering a bottle of wine,” said Ron. “It’s a rosé, so it should go with whatever we might want to eat. Papagano’s is known for its Italian cuisine, of course.”

“That sounds wonderful, Mr. Rosenblum,” said Amy. “Whatever you suggest is fine with me.”

“I’ve already ordered an antipasto to start,” Ron said, opening the menu. “But may I suggest the calamari? Do you like squid?”

“Squid?” said Amy. She fumbled with her menu. “I don’t really know. I’ve never had squid.”

“They prepare it very well here,” said Ron. “In a basil and lemon marinate. But if you prefer something else, perhaps the Osso Buco or the Veal Florentine?”

“Anything,” said Amy, who was rather flustered by the menu – and also by Mr. Rosenblum himself.

The waiter brought the antipasto and poured a small amount of wine into Ron’s glass. He tasted it and nodded. Then the waiter poured a full glass for him and another for Amy.

“This is quite good,” said Ron, sipping his glass. “Papagano’s has one of the best wine lists in Pittsburgh. I’m not an expert on such things, but I enjoy good wine and good food.”

“I can see that, Mr. Rosenblum,” said Amy. The wine was very good. She nibbled at the antipasto platter. It was good, too.

“Please call me Ron. After all, we are going to be working closely together on Brian’s manuscript. Without you and your discerning eye, we wouldn’t be sitting here, thinking about Brian’s work becoming a book.”

“That reminds me... Ron,” said Amy. “Aren’t we supposed to be meeting with the literary agent tonight?”

Ron poured some more wine into Amy’s glass and then into his own. “Yes, James Crossley. He’s been delayed, but he should be here in time for dessert.”

“Oh, I thought that the whole purpose of this dinner was to meet with the agent and discuss the arrangements for Brian’s manuscript.” Amy picked up her refilled glass and drank. This was very pleasant.

“Yes, but I also thought this would be a good opportunity for the two of us to get better acquainted,” Ron replied.

The waiter came at this point and took their orders. Amy had the Veal Florentine, while Ron asked for the calamari.

“Not quite ready for squid, my dear?” Ron smiled, handing his menu to the waiter.

“Perhaps next time.” Amy smiled back at Ron. She had heard so many things about Ron Rosenblum, including what she had read in Brian’s manuscript, but she hadn’t been prepared to be charmed by him. She thought of an ex-convict as someone hardened, like criminals in the movies. Someone with a rough surface or a blunt way of expressing himself. But Ron was elegantly dressed and a perfect gentlemen. Amy tried to imagine this man surviving in prison, but it was difficult to picture.

“Amy, my dear,” Ron began. “I’ve been in discussion with Mr. Crossley, the literary agent, and he has a strategy for selling Brian’s manuscript to one of the major publishing houses. But one of the things I want to be sure of is that all of the people who have been instrumental in getting Brian’s story before the public be part of a team effort. After the first excerpt appears in ‘The New Yorker’ I believe that there is going to be intense interest in what Brian has to say. And because he’s in prison, he won’t be able to speak on his own behalf. That means we must speak for him.” 

“And say what?” asked Amy. She was confused. What did she have to do with all of this? 

“You are the one who discovered Brian. There will be great interest in the story of how you came to read the manuscript and get it out of Stanton. However, as you know, there might be serious consequences for both Brian and Justin if the powers-that-be at Stanton decide to punish the boys for revealing the dark underbelly of prison life.” 

Ron paused for dramatic effect and watched Amy’s alarmed face.

“I... I never considered that anything bad might happen to Brian – or to poor Justin – because of the manuscript,” said Amy slowly. “Maybe we should withdraw it from ‘The New Yorker’? Maybe this whole thing is a bad idea!”

“No, my dear,” said Ron, soothingly. He reached across the table and patted her hand. “This work is an opportunity for Brian’s story to be told. And the more people who know about it, the better the chance will be that he will get a new hearing. Perhaps even a new trial. If Brian’s case becomes a cause celebre, then the prison administration may lash out against him – but not for long. There would be too much bad publicity for them. If they are seen treating Brian, who has been a model prisoner and done many things to help other inmates, in a rough or unfair manner, then there could well be an outcry against his imprisonment. That kind of public scrutiny is exactly what we want.”

“But what about Justin?” Amy hesitated to tell Ron that Justin was in a bad way lately. That he was nervous and fearful and very unlike the bright and eager boy who first gave her his cellmate’s work so many months ago.

“Ah, Justin,” said Ron. He sat back in his chair and gazed at Amy Carver. She would be quite attractive with a haircut and some decent clothes. Perhaps Julie might suggest some ways to make her more presentable to the public. Ron made a mental note to ask Julie about that tomorrow. “We are working on Justin’s case separately. But we are certainly working on it. However, I believe that it is important for you to downplay Justin’s part in your discovery of the manuscript. That’s for the boy’s own protection, of course.”

Amy blinked. “But it was all Justin’s doing! I never would have known about it if it wasn’t for him.”

“I understand that,” said Ron. He leaned forward and stared into Amy’s eyes. “But you want the poor boy to be protected, don’t you? Justin’s mother is very concerned about his safety and well-being. She thinks – and I agree with her – that it would be better if his name never came up in connection with Brian’s book. At least until both boys are safely out of prison. Then the story will be theirs to tell. Do you see my point?” 

Amy hesitated. “I think I see it. I wouldn’t want Justin to come to any kind of harm. Or Brian, either. They’ve both been through so much already. I only want this publication to help them, not hurt them!”

“And it will, my dear Amy,” said Ron. The waiter brought their main courses to the table and set them down. “And now we can enjoy our meal and wait for James Crossley to arrive from his previous appointment. Oh, and this....” Ron pulled his card out of his wallet and handed it to Amy. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like you to come and see me in my office. The soonest you are free. I want to follow this discussion up in a more private venue. And...” Ron smiled. “Perhaps you’d have lunch with me afterwards? I know some quiet and interesting spots around town where we could talk quite uninterrupted.”

“Oh,” said Amy. She felt a bit perplexed. Reading Brian’s manuscript had left her uncertain about Ron Rosenblum’s sexuality. She knew that he had been married at the time he was in prison, but that his relationship with Brian had also been sexual. Frankly, Amy wasn’t sure what to think about the man. Except that he was attractive. And very persuasive.

“I think I’d like that, Ron,” Amy decided. Then she smiled at him again. She tasted the Veal Florentine. It was excellent. Maybe she should have tried the calamari. After all, you don’t learn anything unless you try new and different experiences. 

“Would you like a taste?” said Ron, offering her a piece of marinated squid on his fork.

“Why, Ron! It’s as if you could read my mind!” Amy laughed. “I don’t mind if I do.”

And Ron lifted his fork to her lips.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian has a lawyer visit -- with Julie.

Chapter 30

 

“Hey, Kinney!”

Brian looked up to see one the C.O.’s standing at the door of the Law Library. Brian recognized him. He was assigned to Administration, mainly as an escort.

“You got a lawyer visit.”

“Oh,” said Brian. He looked over his calendar. He knew nothing had been scheduled, but it was always good to double-check.

“Whose lawyer is this?” asked Brian as he closed up the office. Attorneys for men who were up for parole or working on an appeal often requested a visit with Brian in order to update him on the progress of the case. But those visits were usually scheduled well in advance.

“Don’t know.” The C.O. snapped. “They just tell me who to bring over. I don’t ask a bunch of damn fool questions.”

Well, thought Brian, that’ll teach me to keep my fucking mouth shut.

The C.O. walked Brian through the underground passage to the Administration Building and upstairs to where the lawyer rooms were located. These were small meeting rooms that were windowed, so the C.O.’s could watch the inmates and their lawyers, but were also soundproof to ensure the privacy of the lawyer/client relationship.

“In here.” The C.O. shoved open the door.

Brian was surprised to see Julie Finch, a senior lawyer with the Prisoners’ Legal Defense.

“Brian!” she said, standing and taking his hand. “You sure look handsome!”

Brian smiled. “If you say so, Julie. I don’t spend a lot of time looking at myself in the mirror.”

That was so typical of Brian, thought Julie, sitting back down. Brian took the chair on the other side of the table. They were careful not to be seen having more physical contact than a handshake, or else Brian surely would be subjected to a complete body search after the interview.

“How are you feeling, Brian?” Julie asked. “Having any problems from your stabbing? Is there anything that you need that I can get you? You look good, but you’re still thin as hell.” 

Julie certainly didn’t mince words, thought Brian. She was always bugging him about his health. Julie had always been like a mother hen. But that’s what Brian liked about her – her caring, but no-bullshit manner. 

“I’m doing okay. I’m still a little weak and I can’t lift what I used to be able to, but other than that.” Brian flipped his hand in the air. “It’s not bad. And I don’t need anything. Really, I have more than I need to get by.”

“I heard that your parents came to see you,” she said. “Ron told me that it was a big surprise.”

“No shit!” said Brian. “I didn’t stay the whole time. It was, um, not a very comfortable visit. That’s all I’ll say.”

Julie nodded. “But your father did give you that information about Jim Stockwell and a possible connection with Justin’s lawyer, Gordon Maxwell, right?” Julie opened a folder on the desk between them.

Brian sat up straight in his chair. “Yes. I told Ron about it.”

“And I’ve been following it up, Brian.” Julie glanced over her papers. Then she looked up and grinned. “I think that there’s something there. Something that we can use. I have one of the paralegals checking donors to Stockwell’s campaign and our private detective is out digging up dirt on Maxwell. I know that we’ll come up with something.”

Brian felt a wave of relief go through him. Julie was relentless. Once she got her teeth in a case she never let it go. That’s what made her such a shark in the courtroom.

“Thanks, Julie,” said Brian, sincerely. “You don’t know how much this means to me.”

Julie tilted her head. Poor Brian. She’d watched him grow up in prison. She remembered the first time she had visited him, not long after Ron had reclaimed him from the motorcycle gang. The boy had been a real mess. Gaunt and sickly, with the pale, haunted look of a drug addict, even though he was no longer using by then. 

Julie kept visiting Brian over the years, not so much because there was any progress on his case – there wasn’t any – but because he fascinated her. First, he hooked up with Ron. That had shocked her because Ron had always been such an aggressive womanizer. But sex was sex and Ron had been in prison for almost five years by then. And Brian was a pretty piece of work. He wasn’t Julie’s type – she liked older, dominant men – but she could see his appeal to a guy who wanted something soft and sweet and had no access to a real female. 

Then, over the years, she watched Brian become a man before her eyes. From a shy and stammering youth, he became a keen, articulate, and unwavering advocate for the inmates inside Stanton. Julie would never say it to Ron, but Brian’s briefs were usually better written and more sharply argued than Ron’s own. And reading Brian’s manuscript had been another revelation to her. It explained so much about things she had only guessed at over the years. Julie hoped that the publication of Brian’s prison memoirs would lead to some kind of break in his case. Brian deserved something after all he’d been through.

“I know what it means to you, Brian,” said Julie. “We’re doing everything we can to get Justin out and I have some promising news on that front. We have a date for a hearing on Justin’s case.”

Brian swallowed. This was even better than he had imagined. “When?”

“In a little over three weeks. November 14,” Julie replied. “And it’s with Judge Margaret Higgins. I was praying that we’d get her, Brian. She’s a mother with two kids in college and she was a civil rights attorney before she became a judge. She’s exactly the kind of person who might be sympathetic to Justin and hard on the tactics Stockwell used in prosecuting him. So keep your fingers crossed. She may well order a new trial for Justin. Or she might even call for early parole for him. But it looks good. It looks very good.”

“That soon,” Brian whispered. “Thank God!”

“I’m only sorry that....” Julie paused, closing her folder.

“Sorry about what?” Brian frowned. This was the best news possible, so what could Julie be disappointed about?

“There’s nothing new on your case, Brian,” said Julie. “I had hoped for something, but....” Julie sighed. “I’m so sorry, Brian.”

“Don’t be, Julie,” said Brian. “After all these years I’m not expecting anything new to come up. Those people are so far underground that no one will ever find them. They probably aren’t even in this country anymore. I appreciate that you’re still working on my case, but I’m also realistic about it.”

“Maybe when your story is published?” Julie offered. “Maybe something will turn up then.”

“I’m glad you still have hope, Julie,” Brian acknowledged. “But I’d rather that you focused on Justin’s case. Or on getting a hardship release for Wesley Richmond so that he can go and see his mother in Indiana before she dies. That’s what needs to be done.”

“I’m working on all those things, Brian.” Julie shook her head. There was so much still to be done! She only wished that some of her hard work could benefit this deserving man. “But I’ll never stop working on your case. I promise you!”

“I’ll hold you to that, Julie,” said Brian, sadly. “Maybe in 10 years I’ll be able to buy you dinner to thank you.”


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

 

November 1978

 

“What if I say the wrong thing? What if I fuck everything up?” asked Justin, nervously.

He and Brian were walking around the track that ringed the Yard. It was a sunny day, but the wind was cold. Justin could feel the snow inside that wind. Winter was almost here.

“You won’t say the wrong thing,” Brian replied. “Do what I told you. Only answer ‘Yes, Your Honor’ or ‘No, Your Honor’ to questions the judge asks you. Don’t offer any information unless Julie tells you to say it. Otherwise, let her do all of the talking. That’s what she’s there for. To be your mouthpiece.” 

“But what if....”

Brian put a finger across Justin’s lips. “Don’t ‘what if,’ Justin. It will be fine. You have nothing to lose in this hearing. You’ve already been convicted. You’re already in prison. This can only be a good thing for your case. The judge is willing to review your arrest and what went on during your trial. Julie says that she’s sympathetic to cases like yours. So don’t sweat it.”

Justin sighed. “I know, Brian. But I can’t help it. I’m really nervous thinking about going to court.”

Justin kept reflecting back on his trial almost exactly a year before. It had been such a nightmare that the thought of going back into a courtroom made Justin feel an anxiety attack coming on. Those attacks had been more frequent ever since the stabbing in the Chow Hall. He was now able to go to meals, but he still started shaking every time he remembered the blood and body on the floor in front of him.

Now Justin was afraid that the minute he walked into court, he’d feel the walls closing in on him, he’d begin to sweat, his heart would start pounding, and then he’d totally freak out!

“It’s going to be fine,” said Brian. He put his arm around Justin as they walked. He felt Justin shiver, but Brian couldn’t tell if it was from the cold wind or from apprehension. 

Brian had been doing everything he could to prepare Justin for what was likely to happen in court. It was important that he make a good impression on the judge. Important that Justin appear to be exactly what he was – a bright, well-focused boy who had made a mistake, but who didn’t belong in prison. A boy who wanted to continue his education and who was not likely to be a burden on society or a threat to it in the future. Brian couldn’t imagine that a judge could look at Justin or read the record of what had happened to him in Stanton and not believe that he had gotten a shitty deal from the legal system.

“Let’s go in,” Brian suggested. “It’s getting colder.”

Right inside the door they found Emmy and Barbie waiting for them.

“Justin!” cried Em. “We wanted to know if you’d make some drawings for our Thanksgiving Party?”

Brian rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me that you got approval for that fiasco?”

Emmy batted her eyes. “Now, Bri Baby, I know that last year’s party was a bit of a dud, but this year it’s going to be great! But we will need decorations! That’s one of things that was missing last year!”

“Yes, Emmett,” said Brian. “Along with food and drink and music and anything that would make a bunch of queens parading around a room resemble a real party!”

“What happened last year?” asked Justin. He was now intensely curious about this so-called Thanksgiving ‘fiasco.’

“The queens in the East Wing decided to have a party the day after Thanksgiving,” Brian explained. “Since they didn’t have any resources to give a party or a place to have it, they decided that Friday Movie Night would be the best venue for their soiree.”

“It was the perfect time,” said Barbie. “Or it would have been – if SOME people weren’t party poopers!”

“Yeah,” Brian smirked. “Like all of the men who wanted to watch the movie! The queens kept parading in their Thanksgiving finery and they wouldn’t sit down when the movie started to play. Then there was a big argument between the guys who were sick of the queens’ antics and the queens who were determined that they were going to keep doing what they were doing. It almost ended in a fistfight between the queens and a couple of guys from the second tier. It was a fucking disaster!”

“It was merely a lack of planning,” Emmy sniffed. “That’s why we got permission this year to have a REAL party. So we’re going to need decorations. Do you think you can draw some turkeys and Pilgrims and that sort of thing, Justin?”

“I think I can manage it,” Justin laughed. “Turkeys and Pilgrims shouldn’t be too difficult.”

Emmy and Barbie went off, giggling, while Brian and Justin headed for the Law Library. Brian unlocked the door and they went inside.

Justin’s thick folder was on Brian’s desk. He had gone over his lover’s file multiple times, making certain that he hadn’t missed some crucial point. But now it was out of Brian’s hands. It was up to Julie to present Justin’s case and then up to the judge to rule on it. One thing you learned in prison was that you were powerless in the face of the legal system. You could only hope and pray that you’d get a break – or that a miracle would happen and someone would understand what a raw deal you’d gotten. And then you would be outside.

Outside. Brian tried to imagine what that was like. But he couldn’t. When Brian had entered prison the country was neck-deep in the Vietnam War, Richard Nixon was president, and the Beatles were still releasing albums. But a decade had passed since then. Brian hadn’t seen a movie made in the 1970’s. He hadn’t been to a store, or driven a car, or cooked a meal. He hadn’t handled real money, or written a check, or paid a bill. So many simple things that normal people did every day were alien to Brian’s existence. 

There were days when the thought of leaving the Quad made his heart race with fear. Brian remembered the time he had spent in County General Hospital, when all he could think about was going home. Home – to prison.

There were old men in the Hospital Wing who had spent most of their lives in prison – and now they would soon die there. Brian couldn’t help but think that was his fate, too. 20 years-to-life. Brian thought much more about the life part than the 20 years. His father was on the verge of dying. And then maybe his mother would be next. And one day even Ron would stop coming to the Quad, either too ill to get there or no longer interested in his cellmate from so long ago. Maybe Brian would be one of those old men in the Hospital Wing, with no one left on the outside who cared. An old man, waiting. That’s what prison was. Nothing but waiting. Waiting for the end of your sentence. Or the end of your life.

But that wouldn’t happen to Justin. Justin would get out. He would escape before he was caught in the trap. It was already too late for punks like Stormy and Lee. No older than Justin, they were already lifers in their own heads. Prison was the world they knew and they would return to it again and again. Brian had seen it before. Guys who were paroled and loudly proclaimed that they were going straight. That they would never come back to the joint. But they did come back. In and out and in and out – it was a revolving door.

But not Justin. 

Justin came over and stood next to Brian’s chair. He put his arms around Brian’s neck and hugged him. Justin didn’t know why he’d done it, he just did. Something was telling him that he need to touch his lover. Needed to reassure him. Everything would be okay! It would be!

Soon they would be out – both of them. And they’d build a new life. Maybe in the spring. That’s when everything would be perfect. The world would be new and green and beautiful, like the beautiful valley in Justin’s imagination. And that golden horse would truly run free.

They both would run free.

Justin closed his eyes and smiled.

 


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One last quiet moment...

Chapter 32

After headcount, but before lights-out was called, Justin sat on the floor of the cell sketching a Pilgrim. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a real model for his Pilgrims, other than his memories of Thanksgiving celebrations from grade school and one fuzzy picture in an old encyclopedia from the Library.

“The hat isn’t right,” Justin frowned. “It looks more like the Wicked Witch of the West than a Pilgrim, don’t you think, Brian?”

“Then it should be perfect for Emmett’s party,” Brian said. “Any party the queens throw is much more about ‘The Wizard of Oz’ than Colonial America.”

“I guess so,” said Justin, putting the drawing aside. “Turkeys and Pilgrims aren’t exactly an artistic challenge. I need something new to draw.”

Brian was lying on the bottom bunk, his arms crossed under the back of his head, staring up at the underside of the top bunk. He’d been very quiet that evening, Justin thought. In fact, Brian had been very quiet all week. Maybe it was because Justin’s hearing was approaching and Brian was nervous about it – almost as nervous as Justin was himself.

And now it was tomorrow.

But Justin was surprised at how calm he was in the end. Everything had been done and there was nothing more for Justin to do except be there. Brian had drilled that fact into his head. Just sit passively and only speak when you’re spoken to. Let Julie do all of the talking. Don’t yawn or look bored or smirk or make any smart remarks or rude gestures, no matter what happens. Then everything will go as planned.

“You should think about working on your art more seriously, Justin,” Brian said suddenly. “I know you were supposed to go to that art school, but that’s a goal you shouldn’t give up simply because you’ve had a slight detour in your education.”

“Slight detour, huh?” Justin grinned. “More like an alien abduction to a distant planet!”

“But you’ll come down to Earth eventually,” Brian replied. “I mean it, Justin. Don’t let things like that slide. You have real talent and you don’t want it to go to waste drawing turkeys and Pilgrims.”

“I promise I won’t, Brian.” said Justin. “I was thinking of taking a correspondence course in art. Not one of those ‘Draw Blinky’ places that advertise on matchbook covers, but something from a real art department. Amy Carver said that she would ask some friends of hers at the Community College who they might recommend. Then I could send the professor some samples of my work and see if he wanted to take me on as a student.”

“That’s an excellent idea,” Brian sighed. 

Brian leaned over and snapped on the radio. It was always tuned to the local Oldies station. Those were the songs that Brian was the most familiar with. They played some of the current hits, but it was chiefly music from the Fifties and Sixties. Justin had gotten used to listening to those older songs, too, until he knew them almost as well as Brian did. Classic Elvis songs. The Beatles. Motown. They were always playing softly in the background while the two men were lying in the bunk, making love or falling asleep afterwards.

“Baby, I need your loving,   
Baby, I need your loving,

Although you’re never near,  
Your voice I often hear.  
Another day, another night,  
I long to hold you tight,  
’Cause I’m so lonely.”

“Oh!” said Justin, hearing the Four Tops’ song come out of the little radio. “Get up and dance with me, Brian! I love this one!”

“You know that I’m not much of a dancer, Justin,” Brian confessed. He knew that Justin loved to dance and there wasn’t much opportunity for him to do it in the Quad. Sometimes Justin coaxed Brian to slow dance in the cell, but Brian was embarrassed, afraid that one of the other jockers might see them dancing and make fun of Brian.

But tonight Brian didn’t hesitate. He stood up slowly and took Justin in his arms. 

“Baby, I need your loving,  
Got to have all your loving,  
Baby, I need your loving,  
Got to have all your loving.

Some say it’s a sign of weakness  
For a man to beg.  
Then weak I’d rather be  
If it means having you to keep,  
’Cause lately I've been losing sleep.

Every night I call your name,  
Oh, sometimes I wonder  
Will I ever be the same?

Baby, I need your loving,  
Got to have all your loving,  
Baby, I need your loving,  
Got to have all your loving....”

The song faded out, but the two kept circling slowly on the tiny space of floor, Justin’s head leaning against Brian’s strong chest.

“Lights-out in 5 minutes!” called the C.O., walking up the tier. “Lights-out in 5!”

“I guess that’s it for tonight,” whispered Justin. “The ballroom is closed.”

“Sorry about that, Cinderella,” said Brian. And then he kissed Justin.

They turned off the lights in the cell and undressed each other in the dark. 

November was well underway and the stone walls of Stanton were cold, especially at night. Hot in the summer and cold in the winter, that’s how you could tell the turning of the seasons. And the darkening of the sunlight that came in through the small windows. The days were getting shorter and the nights longer. If it was anything like last year, then the snow this winter would be deep and the temperature low for many long months to come.

Brian covered himself and Justin with the rough blanket. Justin began kissing Brian softly, moving around his face, down his neck, and then his body with his expansive lips, leaving a damp trail with his tongue. Justin licked the length of Brian’s cock, feeling it stiffen and pulsate in his hand and in his mouth.

Justin reached for the small jar of Vaseline to coat Brian’s cock, but Brian stopped him.

“Justin,” he whispered. “Do you want to fuck me tonight?”

Justin was surprised. Brian had allowed Justin to top him only a handful of times, usually after Brian had already fucked him and was feeling in a very laid-back mood. It was dangerous for a punk to fuck his jock. Someone might find out about it, or even catch them in the act. Then there would be serious consequences in the Quad for the man who was proved to be less than the real thing. That was something that Brian, as a former punk, was always very aware of.

“Are you sure?” Justin asked.

“Yes,” said Brian. His voice sounded distant. “Please.”

The space was limiting, but the two managed to maneuver so that Brian could spread his legs wide and tilt his ass upward to meet Justin’s dick. He wanted to be fucked face-to-face. It was more difficult in the bunk that way, but Justin didn’t mind. He wanted to look into his lover’s face. See his expression. Be able to kiss him and be kissed back. That wasn’t only fucking, but making love. 

Justin wanted it to last as long as possible, but once he felt Brian’s ass tighten around his dick he couldn’t contain his excitement. He thrust quickly and deeply, reveling in the sensation. He loved being fucked and he wanted to give Brian the same amount of pleasure, but Justin shot after a few minutes. 

It seemed way too short a time, but Brian didn’t complain. He wrapped his arms around Justin and waited until Justin’s cock began to retreat from his ass. Finally, Justin pulled it out gently and wiped it with a kleenex. 

“You didn’t come,” said Justin. “I’ll suck you off.”

“No,” said Brian. “It’s all right. Just lie here next to me.”

Justin stretched out next to Brian. The radio was still playing softly in its niche in the wall. Some song from ‘Grease.’ That was the hit movie of the year. You couldn’t turn on the radio without hearing one of those Fifties-sounding songs. Something about summer nights, which seemed incongruous on such a chilly autumn night.

“I love you, Brian,” Justin sighed. He felt good. And he was no longer afraid of tomorrow. He would hold his head up high in the courtroom. He wouldn’t let Brian down by being a pussy. After all, there really was nothing for him to fear. No one could hurt him. 

“Justin,” said Brian. “I only want you to be happy. And safe. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Justin replied. “I know. Why do you say that?”

“Because,” Brian said. “I wanted you to know it. And not forget it. Okay?”

“Okay. I’ll never forget it.” Justin closed his eyes. He thought about how content he was. Yes, against all of the odds. “Everything is going to be great, Brian. You’ll see.”

“I know it will be,” Brian breathed. He touched his forehead to Justin’s smooth brow. “I know it will. From now on.”


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin goes to court.

Chapter 33

 

“Brian,” said Justin, feeling the panic rising inside him. “I don’t want to be shackled.”

The C.O.’s had come to the cell to escort Justin over to the Administration Building and the van that would transport him to the Pittsburgh courthouse where his hearing would take place. Justin had already put on the green jumpsuit that inmates wore whenever they stepped outside the Quad.

“Don’t worry,” Brian soothed. “It’s only for the ride into town. Once you get to court, Julie will be there and the cops will remove the wrist and leg cuffs.”

“Are you sure?” Justin gulped. “My mother is going to be there. I don’t want my mom to see me... to see me chained like an animal. I’m not violent, Brian! Why do I have to be shackled?”

“Because it’s the rule, Justin,” Brian said softly. “They’ll remove the shackles when you get to the courthouse because you’re going to change into your suit, remember? Julie will have it there so that you can make a good impression on the judge. Julie won’t allow you to walk into court looking like a prisoner, believe me.” Brian touched Justin’s face. Caressed his pale cheek.

“I believe you,” Justin sniffed.

“Good. Are you all ready to go?” Brian asked. The C.O.’s were waiting impatiently.

“I’m ready,” said Justin. “Do you think I’ll be back in time for dinner?”

“I... I don’t know,” Brian replied, looking away. “You’ll get something to eat. Don’t worry. I told you everything will be fine.” Brian leaned over and kissed Justin reassuringly. 

One of the C.O.’s made a disgusted face. Fucking faggots! “Hurry it up, Taylor!” The C.O. snapped. “The van is waiting and it’s a long drive into the Pitts!”

Justin stepped out of the cell and onto the tier. “Goodbye, Brian!” he called, as they led him away. “I’ll see you tonight!”

At Administration Justin stood and tried not to tremble as they put the shackles on his wrists and his ankles. Another long chain connected the two pairs of cuffs. They were heavy and Justin could barely stand upright let alone walk when they were on. That was the point, thought Justin. So you can’t walk. So you can’t run. So you’re tied up like an animal. To remind you that you are an animal in the eyes of the Law. A criminal. A prisoner.

There were two other inmates waiting to get into the van. One was going to the county jail to await another trial, while the other was being transferred to a prison in another state. He had finished his term at Stanton, but he still had another sentence to serve out in New York.

“Where are they sending you?” asked Justin as the men were settled inside the van.

“Auburn. I got 20 years for dealing cocaine. In New York that’s a ball-breaker, kid,” said the other inmate, shaking his head. “The Rockefeller laws are the fucking worst.”

“Shut up!” snarled the C.O. “No talking in the van!”

The prison van bounced along the road from Stanton and Justin could feel the difference when they reached the state highway. The wheels turned more smoothly and the van seemed to race along towards Pittsburgh. The relentless movement of the van made Justin sleepy. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

“Heads up!” called the C.O.

Justin jerked awake. The van rumbled to a stop and the doors opened.

“Step out! Right now!”

Justin stumbled as he tried to step down from the van. He almost fell on the narrow steps. A policeman caught him and shook him roughly. “Watch your goddamn step!” 

“I’m sorry,” Justin whispered. 

Now that he was outside of the Quad he was truly afraid. Everything was unfamiliar. The C.O.’s from Stanton turned him over to some strange cops who were taking him into a strange place. Brian had always warned him that the unfamiliar was dangerous. You didn’t know the people or hallways or the dark corners. You didn’t know who might be lurking there and what they might do to you. In the county lockups they sometimes threw hardcore cons in with kids they picked up for speeding. That’s where you got into trouble. No one came when you called for help. No one would come to your rescue. And Brian was miles away.

“Shut up and move!” the cop barked. He was holding his baton in his hand. He shoved Justin with the end of it, pushing him through a doorway. There was a long corridor and Justin shuffled down it slowly, dragging the shackles as he tried to keep pace with the cop. 

“In here,” the cop said shortly. He opened a door and nudged Justin into a tiny room.

Julie Finch stood when Justin came through the door. The kid looked terrified and the cop was looming over him, tapping his baton against his fist.

“Would you mind unshackling my client, Officer?” said Julie, trying not to let her anger show in her voice.

The policeman grunted and unlocked the wrist and ankle restraints with the key that the Stanton C.O. had given him. “I’ll be putting these things back on you when you go back to the joint, kid, so don’t try anything funny!”

Justin nodded, but he couldn’t speak. His throat was too dry and his whole body felt compressed.

“Thank you, Officer,” said Julie. “I’d like to talk to my client now.”

The cop shrugged. “We’re watching you through the window,” he reminded her.

“I’m aware of that. My client is going to change into his suit and prepare for his hearing – if you don’t mind?” said Julie very grandly.

“Bitch,” said the cop, but he left the room.

“Justin!” said Julie. She put her arms around the boy and hugged him. “Don’t look so scared! Everything is under control.”

“Those chains,” whispered Justin. He rubbed his sore wrists. “I fucking hate them!”

“I know, Justin. Let’s get you into your suit, okay? Your mother brought it for you to wear.” Julie took the blue suit down from where it had been hanging on a hook on the wall. 

It looked like an alien garment to Justin. A plain blue suit. His mother had bought it for his graduation from high school.

“I don’t know if it still fits,” said Justin, hesitating.

“It’ll fit well enough.” Julie smiled at her young client. She helped him off with the faded green jumpsuit that prisoners in transit always wore. What an ugly, ugly thing, Julie thought, folding it and setting it on the table. “Trust me, Justin. That’s all you need to do.”

Justin swallowed. He stepped into the blue trousers, while Julie held a freshly pressed white shirt and a blue and red tie. “Brian said that I should do everything you tell me to. So I will. I trust you, Miss Finch. But I’m afraid. I’m really afraid!”

“Take my hand, honey,” said Julie, squeezing the boy’s hand tightly. “There’s nothing for you to fear any longer. It’s almost over.”


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin's hearing… and a shock.

Chapter 34

 

Justin stared at himself in the men’s room mirror as he washed his hands. Not in his workshirt with his prison number printed over his left breast, but in a blue suit with a white shirt and carefully knotted tie. He almost didn’t recognize himself.

“I wish Brian could see me now,” he muttered.

“What did you say?” asked the policeman. The cop was standing at the door, guarding Justin while he pissed. Since the only window in the men’s room was about a foot wide and almost at the level of the ceiling, Justin wasn’t certain how they expected him to try to escape, but that was the rule.

“Nothing, sir,” Justin replied. Then he followed the officer out into the corridor and down the hallway to the courtroom where Julie was waiting for him.

Julie held Justin’s hand as they walked inside. Justin was surprised at the number of people sitting in the court, since he had assumed that this was a closed hearing. He looked at his attorney questioningly.

“Those people over there are reporters from the local press,” Julie whispered. “That’s Kevin Broderick from the ‘Pittsburgh Clarion.’”

“Reporters?” Justin frowned. “Why would reporters be here?”

“You’ll see, honey,” said Julie, leading Justin to the front table.

Then Justin saw his mother sitting in the front row. Next to her sat Ron. Jennifer nodded to her son, but she didn’t speak to him. She was clutching a handful of kleenex and she looked very nervous. Even Ron looked anxious. He kept running his fingers through his curly hair and clearing his throat.

They all rose when the judge entered the courtroom. Judge Margaret Higgins was a small, stern-looking black woman with a neat afro. She sat down on the bench and the hearing officially began.

Justin had already been through one trial and he knew his case inside and out, but Julie had given the judge a pile of new information. Justin was surprised. During his original trial there wasn’t all that much evidence beyond the bags of marijuana and the handful of Quaaludes that had been found in the car. That and the testimony of the two cops who arrested him and his blood-alcohol test. The rest of it had all been rhetoric by his prosecutor, James Stockwell. 

Stockwell had made long, pretentious statements about drug-ravaged teenagers who hid behind their wealth and privilege to get away with murder. Then he had pointed to the defendant, Justin Taylor, as an example of the arrogance of those spoiled kids who thought they were above the law. Taking drugs and driving while drinking, thereby endangering the peace and well-being of law-abiding Pittsburghers. Law and order had turned out to be the linchpin of Stockwell’s mayoral campaign and he rehearsed many of his political themes during Justin’s trial. 

On the other side, Justin’s lawyer, Gordon Maxwell, had said almost nothing in his client’s defense. He had no real answer to Stockwell’s accusations or grandstanding. And the judge, a tough, old-school ex-cop, bought the prosecutor’s argument all the way, sentencing Justin to 5 years in prison.

The key to Julie’s position was Gordon Maxwell. Craig Taylor’s good friend and golfing buddy. A member of their country club. Julie went after Gordon Maxwell as if he were on trial.

Justin began to listen more intently as Julie presented evidence that Gordon Maxwell had connections to the Stockwell campaign before Justin’s trial and had directly aided it afterwards. She presented evidence of large donations from Maxwell and a network of his friends – many of them members of the same country club as the Taylors – to the Stockwell campaign and also evidence of an attempt to cover up where those donations had originated.

Justin glanced back at his mother. She was crying silently, while Ron held her hand and looked grim. 

Could it be true? It looked like Justin’s own attorney had allowed him to be railroaded into prison so that Jim Stockwell could have a platform for his campaign to win the Republican nomination for mayor. And it had almost worked. Almost. But Stockwell’s campaign ended up in a shambles and Stockwell himself was now under indictment and out on bail. But all of that was too late for Justin. His life had already been transformed forever.

“These power-hungry men sacrificed this young student on the altar of their own ambition,” Julie said in conclusion. “Your Honor, you have seen the evidence that the Prisoners’ Legal Defense has managed to discover connecting my client’s original attorney with the man prosecuting his case. Both had much to gain from a victory by Mr. Stockwell. They little cared for the fate of my young client, who was only 18 years old at the time of his trial and who had never been in trouble with the law in his entire life. He was an Honor student, a talented artist on his way to a prestigious art institute. But instead of spending his freshman year doing what he loved, he was sent to prison with adult felons. There he was assaulted and brutalized physically and emotionally. He watched his cellmate almost murdered before his eyes when that man attempted to protect him from further attack. My young client, Justin Taylor, has lost his freedom and lost his innocence because James Stockwell had political ambitions. Yes, Your Honor, Justin Taylor made a mistake, but the price he has paid is far beyond his offence – an offence which would have ordinarily gotten him probation and community service. And now his prosecutor is himself facing prison. I imagine that he will ask for the full mercy of the court – mercy that he did not ask for in the case of my young client.”

Justin sat with his mouth open. What would the judge say now? Justin looked over at all the observers in the courtroom. Reporters, Julie had said. Now he knew why they were there. They were really covering Stockwell’s trial, not his. But Justin’s case had become inextricably intertwined with that of the disgraced prosecutor.

The judge called a short recess and left the bench. 

Julie turned to Ron and grinned at him. “Not bad for a broad, huh?”

Ron smiled back. He no longer looked nervous. “Perfect, Julie. Higgins has had your material for a couple of weeks now and you know that she was only waiting to get a good look at the kid.” Ron looked Justin up and down. “He’s the picture of wronged innocence in that blue suit. He looks like he stepped off a Christmas card!”

“That’s because he IS innocent!” cried Jennifer, still shredding her kleenex.

“Jen, please keep your voice down,” urged Ron. “Those reporters are going to want a statement afterwards, so save it for then.”

“After what?” asked Justin. He began to feel the panic again. It was building in his chest and moving up into his head, where it began to pound between his ears.

Finally, the judge returned. She didn’t look at all happy. She began making a long statement that seemed to be addressed as much to the reporters in the courtroom as to Justin and his attorney. Justin found his mind wandering. His eyes kept checking the clock. It was getting late. He’d definitely miss head count and maybe dinner. He wished that Brian were here with him. Then he wouldn’t feel so jumpy. Brian would know what to say to reassure him. Justin reached over and touched Julie’s hand. She smiled at Justin and gave his hand a tiny squeeze.

“And because of these abuses of the system by the former prosecutor and also by the defendant’s own attorney – who is currently under investigation himself,” the judge continued. “I find it impossible to see how Justin Taylor could have received a fair trial under such circumstances. The method of his prosecution and the sentence that he received are a disgrace to our judicial system, and the indignities that he has suffered in the time he has spent behind bars are shocking.” The judge held up a folder. “These are statements from the warden of Stanton Correctional, as well as from the chief physician and the chaplain, testifying to what this young man endured there. Keeping all of these facts in mind, I am vacating his conviction and I hereby order his immediate release from detention.”

Justin couldn’t hear anything else because his mother began to sob and Ron yelled, “Yes!” Julie stood and thanked the judge. And then....

And then what? 

Justin sat in stunned silence. The reporters crowded around, asking questions and pushing microphones in his face. Ron and Julie were both making statements, while his mother kept crying.

“But... but....” stammered Justin. “But... what happens now?” He turned to his mother. “I’m going to be late for dinner!”

Jennifer smiled and wiped her eyes. “Honey! You don’t have to worry about that anymore! Didn’t you hear the judge?” 

“Don’t you understand, son,” said Ron, looking triumphant. “She’s vacated your sentence! She’s erased it! You have no conviction and no record! It’s better than we could ever have hoped for!”

“You mean that... that I’m not going back to the Quad?” said Justin. “At all? Ever?”

“No, sweetheart!” cried Jennifer Taylor. “You’re going home! Home – where you belong.”

But Justin Taylor wasn’t smiling. His face froze as he stared at his mother, then at Ron and Julie. “But what about Brian?” he breathed. “I have to go back! I have to!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, son,” said Ron. “We’ve been working our asses off to get you out of Stanton. You’re certainly NOT going back!”

“No,” said Justin, backing away. But there was no place to go. No way to get back to the Quad and see Brian. To talk to Brian one more time. 

“It’ll be all right, Justin,” said Julie, hugging him tightly. “This is what Brian has been working on for months! This is exactly what he hoped would happen! And we couldn’t have done it without him.”

“Brian,” Justin whispered, dropping his head into his hands. “Brian!”


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Finale --
> 
> Back in the Quad.

Chapter 35

 

After Justin left for court, Brian didn’t leave his cell for the rest of the day.

Emmy, Michelle, and Ben stopped by to walk with him to lunch, but Brian begged off, telling them that he had some reading to catch up on. So they went down without him.

Brian rested on the bottom bunk, slowly turning the pages of his ‘New Yorker’ magazine. He read the words, but nothing registered. They were only words, after all, empty of a human voice, ultimately meaningless.

Afternoon headcount came at 4:00 and the men returned to their cells. Wesley kept peering out through the bars, waiting for Justin to come back from court. Justin had promised to tell Wes what the courtroom was like and what the judge had said and whether Justin had been afraid when he walked into the room. 

Going to court terrified Wesley almost more than being in prison, but like a child who loves being frightened, Wesley was also fascinated by anything having to do with the legal process. He enjoyed hearing the stories of other inmates’ trials, court dates, and confrontations with the judges. Wesley was certain that Justin would be brave in front of the judge and the lawyers. Justin was always brave when it counted the most.

But Justin didn’t come back for headcount and Wesley began to worry.

“They’re probably holding him until tomorrow,” Al told his punk. “If the hearing ran late, then they’ll keep him in the lock-up there and bring him back to Stanton in the morning.”

Then, just before the doors were racked to let the men go to the Chow Hall for dinner, two C.O.’s walked down the tier and unlocked the door to E-320.

“Kinney!” The first officer called. “Step out!”

Brian was ready. He set down his magazine and stood up. He walked to the door slowly.

“Kinney, your cellmate, Taylor, is....”

But Brian stopped the C.O. “I know. I have his gear all packed. I’ve already separated his personal clothing from his government issue and put his things into his duffle bag.” Brian indicated the bulging bag on the floor of the cell. Then he pointed to a pile of precisely folded workpants, shirts, and underwear laid to one side. “I put his art supplies and his school books in this box.” Brian pushed a large cardboard container forward. “You can check them, but it’s all there.” He paused. “Everything that belongs to Justin.”

Brian had also taken Justin’s drawings down from the walls of the cell and placed them carefully in the box with his sketchpads. The only picture that remained was a drawing in pastels of a golden horse running in a green valley. That one was still taped to the wall next to the bottom bunk.

“I think this is everything,” Brian repeated, very softly.

The two C.O.’s exchanged glances. “How did you know that the kid wouldn’t be coming back to the Quad, Kinney? What are you, psychic or something? Hell! The warden didn’t even expect that!”

“I knew,” Brian replied steadily. “I’ve been working to that end almost from the day Justin walked in here. He had to get out. It was the right thing. The only thing.”

“The fucking judge vacated the kid’s conviction!” marveled the first C.O. “Can you beat that?”

“That’s called Justice,” Brian said simply. “No one deserves it more than he does. No one.”

The Brian turned and walked back to the bunks. He laid down on the bottom one, switching off his little reading lamp.

The C.O.’s picked up the heavy duffle bag and the cardboard box containing the possessions of Justin Taylor and carried them out of the cell.

“Aren’t you going down to chow, Kinney?” asked the second C.O.

“No,” said Brian. “I’m not hungry. There’s no need for me to go down there.”

The C.O. shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said.

He closed and locked the door to E-320, leaving Inmate Number 1969-21455 alone in the dark.

 

*FIN*


End file.
